


damned

by diana_hawthorne (dhawthorne)



Series: Private Lives [5]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 57
Words: 70,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhawthorne/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: It's a nightmare, she thinks with panic, this must be a nightmare…This fic follows the events of the episode "Helpless" and other L&O S3 episodes, particularly Prince of Darkness and Point of View.Set September 1992-December 1992.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic for a long time, but was prompted to start posting by an anonymous reviewer at FFNET who asked to see how Mike helped Liz through her rape.
> 
> Please note that I've changed the timing of the episode Prince of Darkness, which seems to fall during the events of Helpless but for some reason has cue cards saying it takes place in April. In any case, the events of that episode take place in October/November 1992 in this fic.

Her heart is pounding so loudly she's afraid she won't be able to hear him come in. She undresses as quickly as she can, gets into the examination gown, and then goes to her purse and turns on the tape recorder. She makes sure the microphone is free of obstruction and rushes back to the exam table when she hears footsteps in the hall. 

‘How are we today, Elizabeth?’ the doctor asks. She barely restrains a shudder. 

‘A little nervous,’ she admits--the truth, though she's much more than a little nervous. 

‘Oh, don't be,’ the bastard tells her. ‘It'll all be over in thirty minutes or less.’ He turns away from the gloves and looks at her. ‘Uh, would you lie down, please? I'm going to give you a local.’ As she lays back against the table, he says, ‘Miriam, lidocaine.’ The nurse disappears, returns with a syringe, and then disappears again. 

He pushes her legs open with far more force than needed; she can’t restrain a little gasp of pain. 

‘Relax,’ he tells her, and of course she can't, now, her heart starts to pound again. ‘Chances are you won't feel a thing. At most a little discomfort.’

 _More than a little_ , she thinks as he injects her, the needle going in much deeper than necessary. 

‘There,’ he says, and there's pleasure in his voice. ‘We’ll give it a couple of seconds…’

It hits her. It's not lidocaine, it must be a sedative, she realizes with a growing sense of fear, and she looks with terror into his steely eyes.

‘I--can't--move--’ she chokes out, fighting the drug, and he smiles at her. It's a nightmare, she thinks with panic, this must be a nightmare… 

His eyes glaze over. 

He unzips his pants. 

He grabs her legs, forcing them open. 

She tries to scream, but nothing comes out.

He smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

She’s sitting on the hospital bed, staring out the window, trying not to think about the soreness of the bruises on her thighs and the after-effects of the barrage of tests she’s just been put through. Someone knocks at the door and her heart leaps into her throat, heart racing with sudden, surprising, instinctive panic. When she turns, though, it is only Mike, and she sags in a mixture of guilt and relief.

‘You okay?’ he asks, hovering in the doorway.

‘I’ve had better days,’ she quips weakly, unwilling to show him just how devastated she is. It doesn’t work; she hears the words fall flat, and he walks over to her. She looks up at him. ‘Run the kit, Mike. Lock the bastard up.’

‘Yeah. Well. You know, I gotta ask you--what were you thinking going back after what he already did?’

She’s flabbergasted and suddenly furious. ‘It makes a difference?’ she asks coldly.

‘Of course it does.’

‘Somebody had to stop him. He drugged me, I dunno, I think it was diazepam, I don’t know. Doesn’t that remove any question of consent? Doesn’t that make it Rape 1 no matter how you cut it?’ she spits.

His own fury--she can’t tell if it’s directed at her--is barely controlled. ‘You know what’s coming. You’ve been there. He’ll be on the stand claiming you asked for the drug to put you in the mood--’

She stands up and turns her back to him. Rummaging around in her purse, she finally comes up with what she’s looking for. ‘Well, he can claim whatever he wants. Here. People’s Exhibit 1.’ She looks up at him, defiant.

He doesn’t say a word. He stares at the tape recorder, every one of his thoughts visible on his face. She watches as he realizes she went there with an agenda--and he knows that, even though she knows that he won’t offer that information to anyone: not Phil, not the DA’s office, no one.

‘Lizzie--’ he says, his voice cracking with grief.

She wants to cry. She wants to curl up into a ball and scream and run away and do nothing at all, because she can’t move. She feels--empty, when she was so filled with anger a moment ago. How could she have done this? Why did she do this? She had to--but--

The door opens and she tenses again, her body feeling completely separate from her mind. She has no control over herself right now--even as part of her mind analyzes what’s happening clinically, another part has shut down, just letting her instincts guide her reactions. She needs someone--she needs Mike--she needs him to hold her, to protect her, to keep her safe and take her home and manage everything--

Oh, God. She’s going to have to tell her family. This will be all over the news because Stone will be _damned_ if he doesn’t bring this to trial, Mike would do it himself if he could--

He’s going to have to tell them. He’s going to have to run interference. She’s always needed him and she needs him so much now--

She barely listens to Phil, letting the clinical part of her brain take over as she gives her statement. In the back of her mind, she notes how wooden she sounds, and in that instant she remembers all over again what’s happening and her voice wavers, and then she falls silent--

‘We don’t have to do this now, do we, Phil?’ she hears Mike ask, she’s never heard him like this-- ‘Lizzie--’

She opens her eyes--when did she close them?--and he’s across the room in an instant, wrapping her tight in his arms. For a moment she goes rigid with panic and then she’s clutching him tight, pulling him as close to her as he can, closing her eyes and letting him soothe her by simply being there--

‘Oh, Christ, Lizzie--oh, sweetheart,’ he whispers into her ear.

She needs to be here, like this, forever, but then someone knocks at the door and she slips back into the coolly analytical part of herself, knowing that it would be bad if an official witness sees this, and by the time the nurse comes in she’s holding it together, however tenuous her grip on herself remains.

It’s only after the nurse stumbles out a request for photographs of her bruises that she remembers Phil. He has his hand on Mike’s shoulder and isn’t looking at her.

As she agrees to the photographs, Phil asks, ‘How long will this take?’

‘Probably about twenty minutes,’ the nurse responds, and Phil nods.

‘C’mon, Mikey. Liz, we’ll be right outside to finish up.’

She forces a small smile for the two of them.

‘D’you want me to stay?’ Mike asks her.

‘I’ll be fine, Mike,’ she manages. He looks at her, but she lowers her gaze, needing him so badly but also needing him to not see this. He can’t.

The nurse leaves her alone for a minute and then comes back with someone from the precinct who will be taking the photographs. She thanks God for the small mercy of the photographer not being anyone she knows.

Mike and Phil come back to take her statement and once again the clinical part of her brain takes over, allowing her to tell the rest of what happened today--was it only today?--without faltering… except once.

She’s tired now, she’s never felt so tired in all her life, and she looks at Mike… she looks at Mike and he looks like he’s moving underwater.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he says, and she hears his voice from a distance. His eyes are filled with concern but she just--can’t, right now.

When she hears them walk to the door, she leans back against the bed and closes her eyes, waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

‘People’s exhibit one.’

She stares at him, defiant and angry, and he looks down at the tape recorder in his hand before looking back at her. He’s overwhelmed with a whole host of conflicting emotions--grief, anger at her for putting herself out there, fury at that fucking quack, a deep disappointment in himself, that he didn’t keep pushing to investigate, that he didn’t see what she was going to do. 

‘Lizzie--’ his voice is hollow with grief and she shivers at the sound. Before he can say anything else, before he can take her into his arms, Phil steps in.

‘Hi Liz, you alright? We need to take your statement.’

He is making a big effort to appear normal, to pretend that nothing’s happened, but the tension in the room is so thick his partner’s gaze darts between the two of them, taking everything in.

‘Yes, that’s fine, Phil,’ she says, clearing her throat. ‘Um, should we sit down?’

Phil nods, pulling up a chair to the bedside as Liz perches on the edge of the bed. He leans against the window, watching her, barely able to take in what she’s telling them. He can’t take her statement--besides the obvious conflict of interest, it’s taking everything he has to keep from freaking out.

Her voice is wooden, detailing everything that happened with precise, witness-statement-worthy words. ‘I went back for the biopsy. I had a brief meeting in Merritt’s office to discuss the procedure, which he said would involve a local anaesthetic injection and then the biopsy. He said it would only take half an hour at most. After that, I was escorted into the exam room by the nurse and was asked to disrobe and change into an examination gown. Merritt came in with the nurse, asking me to lie back on the table. He asked the nurse for lidocaine, told me to relax, and when the nurse reappeared with the syringe, he injected me. After a few moments, I went numb. I couldn’t breathe…’ she swallows and falls silent, closing her eyes.

‘We don’t have to do this now, do we, Phil?’ he asks, suddenly desperate to stop this. ‘Lizzie--’

She opens her eyes and looks at him and she is in so much pain he crosses the room without a second thought, taking her into his arms. He knows that Phil knows about them in the abstract--he’d had a particularly awkward conversation with him and Donny about it, after she was molested--but right now he couldn’t give less of a shit about who knows what--she needs him. She clutches him, burying her face against his chest, nails digging into his back as she tries to get as close as possible to him. He can feel her tremble and his heart breaks.

‘Oh, Christ, Lizzie,’ he murmurs into her ear, unsure what else to say. ‘Oh, sweetheart--’

A knock comes at the door and Liz pushes him back, her cool psychologist mask back in place but slipping slightly. It’s a nurse who asks, eyes lowered, if they could leave the room so that they can take photographs of her bruises for the official police report. He looks at the nurse in horror, then back at Liz, who is nodding at her.

‘How long will this take?’ Phil asks.

‘Probably about twenty minutes,’ she responds, and Phil nods.

‘C’mon, Mikey. Liz, we’ll be right outside to finish up.’

His beautiful, brave Lizzie nods and forces a small smile for the two of them.

‘D’you want me to stay?’ he asks her.

‘I’ll be fine, Mike,’ she manages. He looks into her eyes, searching to see if she’s fibbing, but she lowers her gaze and he can do nothing more than follow his partner out of the room.

‘You’ve gotta get it together, Mikey, or get off the case,’ Phil says as soon as the door closes behind him.

‘What?’

‘Look, you told me and Donny about your relationship with Liz after she was molested. We can’t have the defense claiming that this was entrapment, that we put her up to this.’

‘Put her up to get _raped_? What the fuck, Phil!’ 

‘Take a deep breath, Mikey,’ he urges him. ‘What I’m sayin’ is that your involvement can really compromise the case. The best thing you can do for her right now is to take a step back.’

He turns to look at him, forcing himself to calm down. ‘She got _raped_ , Phil. She got raped because we didn’t stop him when he molested her.’

‘You can’t blame yourself--’ he begins, but he cuts him off.

‘I sure as hell can! I could’ve kept going--’

‘Mike!’ Phil yells, and he looks at him in astonishment. ‘Mike, she’s gonna need you now. You need to get it together and help her. If you want to keep working on the case, you’ve gotta calm down and stop getting personal. It’s the only way.’ He catches his surely belligerent look and says, his voice softer, ‘I know it’s gonna be tough, but we’re gonna get the guy this time. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ he says, teeth clenched to keep from saying something he’ll regret. ‘Fine. But after you finish takin’ her statement I’m takin’ her home.’

‘All right,’ his partner agrees. As he kicks the wall in futile frustration, Phil says, ‘You know, I want the same thing you do--I want that bastard to rot in jail.’

‘I want him dead,’ he says, his words cold even to his ears. Phil doesn’t have anything to say in response, and they wait in silence for the nurse to come back.

 

She is back in control when they resume taking her statement, detailing how the drug was probably diazepam, how she couldn’t move or speak, what he did--unzipped, climbed on top of her, penetrated her--how he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with hate, as he called her a bitch, a whore, told her this is how she liked it… she nearly broke down at that point, her voice wavering dangerously, but she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and finished her statement.

‘He ejaculated and then climbed off me, cleaned himself up, zipped up his trousers… then he just walked out of the room. The drug didn’t wear off for another ten or so minutes, and as soon as it did I came straight to the hospital and called Mike.’ She swallows. ‘I taped recorded it, Phil. In case something happened… it should all be on there.’

Only the barest twitch of his shoulders betrays his surprise at her statement. ‘All right, Liz, thank you. Can we take the recording?’

‘Yes.’ She produces the recorder from her bag.

‘Thank you. Mikey, walk me downstairs?’

She turns to him, a flicker of fear in her eyes. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he promises her, and she nods.

This time Phil doesn’t say anything until they’re outside--and then he explodes.

‘She recorded it! She’s a Ph.D., she should’ve had more sense!’

‘She didn’t figure on being shot up with a sedative and then raped,’ he replies, angry but trying to keep it together. He needs to, for her.

Phil takes the tape recorder from him.

‘Let’s hope the good doctor’s a talker.’ He can’t manage to say anything real.

When they reach the car, his partner turns and looks at him. ‘I’m gonna call the precinct, talk to Donny. See if Robinette can get us an arrest warrant. Why don’t you go back in there for a bit?’

He nods tersely. ‘Thanks.’

‘Yeah. We’ll get the guy, Mikey,’ he says, patting him on the shoulder before he slides into the car. ‘I’ll buzz you when we’ve got the warrant.’

‘See you later.’

 

He takes his time walking back into the hospital, trying to be calm, take stock of everything that’s happening.

Liz was raped by her doctor.

She was molested by him first.

He didn’t stop it.

She had to.

He doesn’t know what to do to help her. He’s not good with this sort of thing… he doesn’t know what he can say to make things right. Liz has always been the one he’s gone to to figure out what to do; she won’t be able to help him now, he knows.

She’s sitting in the hospital room just as he left her, lying on the bed, her eyes closed. She looks so exhausted; every line in her body says that she is tired.

‘Hi, honey,’ he says gently, not sure what to say. She opens her eyes and turns her head to look at him.

‘Where’s Phil?’

‘He’s outside. Had to call Cragen, and he’s calling Robinette to get an arrest warrant for--’ he breaks off. ‘Um, he said he’ll page me when we have it.’

‘Okay,’ she says at last, sounding like every letter, every syllable is a struggle.

‘I’ll go with him, then--then I’ll come back and we can go home, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she says again.

He doesn't know what else to say. They sit in silence, tension stretching between them, before it’s snapped by the sound of his beeper. She flinches; he closes his eyes against a brief moment of pain. 

He looks down at his beeper. ‘That’s Phil. We have to go to the DA’s office.’ He looks up at her. She’s tensed again, although how she could be more tense than she already was he didn't know. ‘Are you gonna be okay? Do you want me to take you home first, or for me to stay?’

‘Just--please get him, Mike.’

‘I will, Lizzie. I promise,’ he says, and she looks up at him, face completely blank. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Okay.’

He doesn’t want to leave her. He walks over to her and takes her hand, fighting back sadness as her hand just lays in his. She makes no movement except to tense when he bends over to kiss her forehead.

‘I’ll be back soon,’ he promises, and with one last squeeze of her hand he leaves her behind.

 

When they get to Hogan Place he is ready to run to Merritt’s office and strangle him. Phil tells him in the car that he either needs to stay out of the office when he plays the tape or find some way to keep it together. He chooses the latter--not because he wants to listen to it, but because he needs to know what happened.

It’s worse than he imagined. He has to literally bite his thumb to keep from saying anything, to keep from reacting, and it’s a tough call anyway. It’s almost worse when Stone starts questioning Phil about whether or not they put Lizzie up to this. Of course they didn’t.

But then Stone says the magic words, “arrest that son-of-a-bitch,” and off they go.

Facing Merritt, he’s so tempted. Tempted to put a fist through his face, handcuff him to the bumper and put the car in reverse--whatever it takes to make him stop. But he can’t do that. Lizzie--what she did, she did because she wanted him to pay for what he did, but legally. He knows that as well as he knows his own name. He would’ve done the same. Did do the same, with Max’s killer. That's why he didn't shoot the bastard. That's why he won't shoot this bastard. That’s why they understood each other so well.

So no, he can’t do what he wants to do. Not yet.


	4. Chapter 4

When he goes, she closes her eyes, letting herself take stock of what’s happened, pretending she’s analyzing a patient.

She’d gone back because nothing had happened after she was molested, even though she’s a credible witness, a reliable one, a Ph.D. from a good family… 

Mike told her that Stone said it would be like climbing Everest when it was just her word against his. So: she made sure it wasn’t just that.

She bought a tape recorder and tested it when it was hidden in the outside pocket of her purse.

She made the appointment, made sure Mike wouldn’t spend the night with her because she didn't want to lie to him about where she was going, and went back.

And now…

Her thighs and calves are bruised. She knows they’ll take pictures of her body soon, as though she’s just an exhibit for a court case. Well, that’s what she is, she realizes.

The People v. Alex Merritt. The charge is Rape in the First Degree. 

She's not a person. She is just a victim. 

The nurse comes to collect her for photographs. She lets herself be wheeled away.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as they drop him off at the precinct for booking, he heads back to the hospital. He reaches her floor in record time, choosing to bound up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevators. She’s not in her room and he inquires at the nurses’ station.

‘Yes, she’s just finishing up her last round of tests,’ the nurse tells him. ‘You can wait in her room for her.’

He’s there for twenty minutes before she comes back, and by the time she’s wheeled in on her bed he’s pacing, though he stops with relief when the door opens.

‘All right, just check out with the nurses’ station when you’re ready to go,’ the doctor says.

‘Thank you,’ she tells him, still avoiding his gaze.

He waits to speak until they’re alone. ‘Are you ready to go?’ he asks.

‘I need to get dressed. At least they didn’t have to take my clothes for evidence,’ she says, a trace of bitterness in her otherwise flat tone.

‘Honey--’ he begins. 

‘Can you--can you wait outside for me, please? Maybe check with the nurses to see if there’s any paperwork for me to fill out?’

He nods and does as she asks. She joins him a few minutes later, signs a few forms, and then they walk out of the hospital. The exit that they use is only two blocks from her apartment but it seems like miles as she forces herself not to limp. His heart clenches with each trembling step she takes.

When they enter the lobby she makes for the elevators; he stops by the desk to tell the doormen not to let anyone up except her family, and only if they check with her, until further notice. The elevator comes and she waits for him impatiently; he lopes across the marble floor to catch up with her.

Her hands are trembling now, too, and he unlocks the door. She steps into her apartment with a sigh of relief and turns to watch as he does up all the locks and puts the chain on the door. Only then does a little bit of tension leave her body.

‘I need to shower,’ she says.

‘Okay. What can I do? I can order in, or go pick something up.’

She swallows. ‘I need to tell my parents--I need you to tell my parents what happened.’

‘Lizzie--’

‘Please, Mike,’ she whispers, running a hand over her eyes. ‘I can’t.’

‘Okay,’ he agrees reluctantly. He wants to spare her any further pain but--how the hell is he going to tell them what happened? ‘Um--and I can get something for you to eat after I talk to them. What would you like?’

‘I don’t care,’ she says. ‘A sandwich, maybe.’

‘Okay,’ he says. She’s still standing in the middle of the hall, trembling.

‘I’m going to shower,’ she says, and he nods. She nods in return, then walks down the hallway to their bedroom. After a few minutes, he hears the water turn on and he walks into the living room, picking up the phone. He’s got to do it now. Fuck.

He’s not sure who to call. Nick’ll probably be at the office and not able to talk, and this isn’t the sort of thing he can leave in a message. Isobel will be home but--how can he call them and tell them that their daughter has been raped?

He makes up his mind to call Isobel. She picks up after a couple of rings and he prepares himself to ruin their lives.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Isobel, it’s--um, it’s Mike,’ he says, stumbling as he tries to figure out what he’s gonna say.

‘Michael!’ she exclaims. ‘How are you? Are you ready for Liz’s party on Saturday? We were planning to come in on Friday and take you two out to dinner as a private birthday celebration before the party. Did she tell you where she decided to go?’

Oh, fuck. He forgot about this--her birthday was two days ago, they hadn't even celebrated privately yet, thanks to work, there’s a huge party for her on Saturday at Lutèce, fuck fuck fuck--

‘Michael?’

‘Um, Isobel--I don’t know how to say this--’

‘What is it?’ she asks, voice suddenly tense. ‘What’s happened. Is it Liz? Is everything all right?’

‘No. She was, um--she was raped today. This morning.’

There’s silence on the other end.

‘Isobel?’

‘What happened?’ she whispers.

‘She--she was at the doctor’s. And the doctor drugged her with a sedative, Liz thinks, then--’

‘Oh God,’ she breathes. ‘Michael, have you told Nick yet?’

‘No, just you,’ he tells her. ‘She’s been at the hospital all day, but my partner and I--we arrested the guy. He’ll probably be arraigned later today.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Dr. Alex Merritt,’ he says, the name sounding evil on his tongue.

There’s another long silence before Isobel says, ‘Listen, Michael, I need you to call Nick now. Right away. I’m going to drive down now. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Tell Liz--tell her I’m coming.’

‘Okay,’ he says, relieved that one part of this is over. ‘I’ll call him now.’

‘Tell his secretary it’s an emergency. That I told you to call and that I don’t care if he’s in with the President, he’s to take your call. And tell him to get here as soon as he can.’

‘Okay, Isobel. Drive safely, please.’

‘I will,’ she tells him, and hangs up.

He finds Nick’s office number in her address book by the phone and gets his private line. His secretary picks up and tells him that Nick’s unavailable.

‘Mrs. Olivet told me to tell you that it’s an emergency and she wants me put through right away, no matter who he’s meeting with.’

‘One moment,’ she says, and he’s on hold for a thankfully short time before Nick picks up.

‘Michael? What is it?’

‘Liz was--Liz was raped this morning.’

‘What?’ He’s never heard him yell before and he’s so startled he almost drops the phone. ‘What happened?’

‘Her doctor. He shot her up with a sedative and raped her. My partner and I arrested him this afternoon and I just brought Liz home from the hospital.’

‘Have you told Isobel?’

‘Yes, I just spoke with her. She’s heading down here.’

‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be on my way,’ he says.

‘Okay,’ he agrees, and they hang up.

After a few minutes, he heads down the hall to their bedroom. The water is still running and he eases open the door. ‘Lizzie, it’s me. You okay?’

He stops abruptly when he sees her through the fogged-up glass of the shower. She’s sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, clearly distressed.

‘Christ,’ he whispers to himself, and he sees her look up at him. After a long moment, she reaches up and turns off the shower.

‘Can you get me a towel, please?’ she asks through the glass, standing up at last. He does, opening the shower door.

He catches sight of the bruises on her thighs, deep purple already. They’re enormous, clearly painful, and he closes his eyes for a moment in a futile attempt to keep himself from crying.

‘Oh, God, Lizzie--what did he do to you?’

She snatches the towel out of his hand and wraps it around herself as quickly as possible--though it’s too late.

He follows her into the bedroom, hovering awkwardly as she gets dressed in her ancient tennis sweatpants, tshirt, and one of his sweaters. When she’s dressed, he walks over and embraces her, pushing down a wave of despair as she stands woodenly in his embrace.

‘I talked to your parents,’ he says. ‘They’re on their way.’

‘Okay. I guess we should go into the living room, then.’

He nods and she steps back from him.

‘Lizzie--what can I do?’

‘Just stay, Mike, please,’ she says. ‘Stay with me.’


	6. Chapter 6

She still feels as though she’s underwater. Every movement that she initiates is such a struggle it is almost impossible. He guides her to the living room, settles her on the sofa, and starts to make a fire. She watches him. Watching she can do. 

‘Are you cold?’ he asks her, and she realizes she's shivering, but she's not sure if she's cold. She doesn't answer and she sees the pain on his face, the distress, but she just… can't. 

‘I'll make you some tea,’ he says at last. She manages a nod and he nods back before heading to the kitchen. He keeps the kitchen door open and she can hear the sounds of him boiling water in the background. She leans back against the sofa and closes her eyes. 

Was this how Diane felt? Was this what happened to her? She's telling the truth, she knows that now, knows that beyond a doubt. 

She knew it then, really. Before.

But she didn't think it would happen to her. 

Who did he think she was? Someone who could be cowed easily, someone who would be too embarrassed to come forward. 

He was wrong.

That was his mistake.

Mike is calling down to the desk, telling the doormen to let her parents up when they arrive. She doesn't know how long he’ll be able to stay. Or how long they can. Or how she'll be able to be alone when they have to go back to their lives and she has to go back to hers…

How can she go into her office and see patients? No, she can't, not now.

Not yet. 

She will need to call Rebecca, ask her to cover her appointments. 

She will need to call her secretary and tell her she’ll be out. 

At least the 2-7 knows what’s happened; they won't expect her in for a while. 

She doesn't know how she can stay in her apartment alone while Mike is at work. She doesn’t know how she can go to work and pretend that she’s fine. She doesn’t know how she’ll be able to pick up the paper or turn on the news because she knows, she knows, this will be reported.

But she has to know what is going on.

Because everyone will know what’s going on.

All of her friends.

Her neighbors.

Her colleagues.

She hears footsteps and turns her head. Everything is moving so slowly.

‘I hope Earl Grey’s okay,’ Mike says, holding the mug out for her. She doesn’t know how to take it, so after a few moments too long, he sets it down on the end table next to her. He hovers awkwardly.

‘Sit down,’ she forces herself to say, forcing herself to pat the sofa next to her. He does, perching on the edge.

‘Can I get you anything, Lizzie?’ he asks.

‘Can you just--hold me, please?’ she asks him, needing his warmth and his protection and to feel safe… 

He puts his arms around her, gently, gently, and squeezes. For the first time all day she lets herself relax a little--and only a little--burying her face in his shirt. He holds her tight, protecting her.

 _Thank God_ , she thinks, and closes her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

She honestly has no idea how she manages to drive from Contentment Island to the apartment safely. She’s never driven so fast before in all of her life, never been so concerned, so worried--

\--raped?--how could this happen to her daughter?

And why was she seeing Dr. Merritt? She’s seen Barbara since she was fifteen, the only gynecologist she’s ever seen…

Something else is going on here, she knows, but it doesn’t matter because something has happened to her daughter, her baby girl…

Michael sounded… he sounded like he was barely keeping it together.

Nick will be the same.

She’s the one who has to be strong for all of them.

So she lets herself cry in the car, sobbing helplessly, barely able to see the road.

 

She stops crying when she crosses the bridge into Manhattan. She needs to focus, now, needs to pull herself together for her daughter and husband… 

She doesn’t even park the car, just pulls it up in front of the building, hands the keys to Tony, thankfully, thankfully on duty, and tells him to park it in the garage. She bolts for the elevator and up to the apartment, but stops outside the door.

She has to be strong, she reminds herself. Strong for her daughter. Taking a deep breath, she knocks on the door.

 

Michael answers it. She’s never seen him like this, tense and drawn, every movement jerky.

‘How is she?’ she asks immediately, and Mike shakes his head. ‘Is Nick here?’

‘No, you beat him.’ He steps back and lets her inside.

‘Where is she?’ she asks in a low voice.

‘In the living room. Isobel--’ he says, gripping her elbow to stop her from going back. ‘I’ve never seen her like this.’

Her heart stops at his words but she nods and he releases her elbow and she heads down the hallway to the living room.

She sees what he means immediately. Liz has always been a calm, self-contained person but this--she’s frozen, locked into herself. Her daughter turns her head slowly, as though every movement is like running a marathon, and forces a small smile.

‘Sorry to drag you all the way from Connecticut,’ Liz says. Her heart breaks at her attempt at levity, the crack in her voice, the way her eyes drop. She walks forward slowly and sits down at the other end of the couch.

‘Are you…’ what can she say? She’s not okay, she’s the furthest thing from okay, how will she finish the sentence?

Liz looks back at the fire. It’s warm in the apartment, almost uncomfortably so, but she knows that Mike has built a fire to give Liz something to look at that isn’t another person. And despite the warmth, she’s shivering.

She doesn’t want to touch her, not if it will make her uncomfortable, but she has to reassure herself, has to hold her daughter and smooth back her hair, still wet from the shower and dripping onto the overlarge sweater that has to be one of Mike’s--

Liz says, ‘Daddy isn’t here yet. You must’ve driven very fast.’

‘I don’t know,’ she says. She doesn’t, honestly. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

‘I know,’ Liz says, then, ‘I'm sorry.’

‘Oh, Lilibet,’ she whispers, heart breaking, and Liz’s lower lip trembles, and then she's in her arms. Her daughter isn’t crying, isn’t hugging her back, just sitting there, unmoving, her body shaking with--grief, sadness, anger, disbelief? She doesn’t know. She just holds her close.


	8. Chapter 8

His driver is somewhere, God knows where, and getting a cab in the Financial District at any point during the day is impossible. He takes the subway for the first time in probably a decade. At least he had a spare token in his wallet.

The 6 is always fraught with delays and it’s a local, but he’d rather take this all the way up to 77th instead of switching back and forth between the express and the local. He gets the corner seat after a few stops, sits down, and closes his eyes.

Michael’s phone call… when his secretary had appeared in the door during the board meeting, he’d been frustrated at being interrupted, but she told him in a whisper that it was Mr. Logan and it was an emergency. He'd almost run down the hall to his office, and when Michael had said what happened… 

Having to go back into the board room, to say that he had to leave due to a family emergency, telling Peter he’d call later…

What happened to his daughter? What doctor did she go to see and how on earth… how did this happen?

He prays that Isobel drives safely. He can’t imagine getting in the car and battling traffic on the Parkway or 95 after hearing this. It’s all he can do to get from Wall Street to 77th Street without… he doesn’t know, jumping the turnstile, running all the way up to the apartment, something.

God.

Liz was everything to them. They’d tried for a long time, a decade, to have a child. Isobel had had two miscarriages in the first trimester, then one six months along. Their son. And then, when she found out she was pregnant the fourth time, she’d gone to Switzerland for some health regime and came back and worked wheatgrass and other nonsense into her diet, and Liz was born, happy and healthy and two weeks late.

They’ve always wanted her to have the world. They’ve tried to protect her, to give her everything, to raise her well. He thinks they’ve done a good job. She’d grown up beautiful and happy and smart, wanting to help people instead of make money, and they’d loved her always and were always proud of her.

She’d had her heart broken a few years after college, when her longtime boyfriend Lucas had been given the Ambassadorship to Morocco. They both knew that it wouldn’t work, though they tried for a year. That was the defining, painful moment in her life, and he’d prayed nightly that that would be the worst thing to happen to her.

He and Isobel had been cautiously hopefully after meeting Michael. Their daughter clearly loved him, and as they got to know him better they were happy with her choice, even though he wasn’t the sort of person they’d expected her to fall for. But they liked him. They were happy together.

And now this has happened.

Michael knows what’s coming next. Liz does, too. He has faith that Michael will stay with her, support her, love her.

He’s grateful for that.

The train finally arrives at 77th and he pushes his way past the other passengers exiting. He has to get to his daughter.

 

‘Isobel is already here,’ Michael tells him when he answers the door. ‘Got here about 10 minutes ago. She must’ve been goin’ 100 miles an hour…’

He’s appreciative of the conversation, the attempt at normality. ‘Is she okay?’

‘No,’ Michael responds bluntly. ‘No, she’s not.’

‘Fuck.’ He never, ever curses. It’s crass, it’s for people who can’t find other words to say what they mean. But now he realizes the appeal.

‘Yeah,’ his daughter’s boyfriend says, his voice bitter. ‘My thoughts exactly. They’re in the living room.’ He pauses, then says, ‘I’m gonna give you guys some time alone. Pick up groceries before this appears on the evening news, y’know.’

God, he didn’t even think about that… he nods, and Mike nods tightly, grabbing keys from the small table in the hall.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. I told the doormen not to let anyone else up.’

‘Thank you,’ he says softly, gratefully.

‘Yeah. Be back soon.’

He makes his way down the hallway to the living room. God, he remembers bringing Liz home here as a baby, after school, when they gave her the apartment…

His daughter is sitting on the sofa, staring at the fire, looking like a statue. Isobel has her arms around her. Liz looks up at him, slowly. 

‘Hi, darling,’ he says gently. ‘Mike just went out to get groceries.’

She nods, her movements clearly forced. Isobel leans forward to give him a kiss over Liz’s head. She's doing better than he is, but he can see the remnants of tears on her face. 

He doesn’t know what to say. They sit in silence. The fire crackles. The church bells ring six o’clock, and Liz moves.

‘I want to watch the news,’ she says, leaning forward to pick up the remote from the coffee table. He and Isobel exchange a glance, but don’t stop her. Better to know.

It’s the third story.

‘In local news,’ the newscaster begins, ‘Dr. Alex Merritt has been accused of drugging and raping a patient today. The alleged victim is Elizabeth Olivet, a police psychologist. Danielle Melnick, Dr. Merritt’s attorney, replied to our request for a statement. She says, “Dr. Merritt is a respected gynecologist and pillar of the community. He has worked at some of our city’s best hospitals and is widely recognized as a leader in the field. He vehemently denies these accusations.”’ The newscaster looks up from the paper in front of her. ‘We’ll have more on this story as it develops. Dr. Merritt has been charged with Rape in the First Degree and was released on $250,000 bail.’

The news goes to commercial and Liz turns off the TV.

‘I suppose it will be in the papers tomorrow,’ she says, attempting to be casual. ‘I’m sorry if this will embarrass you.’

‘How could you even think that?’ Isobel says fiercely. ‘You’re the victim here, Lilibet. We’re not embarrassed. We are worried and concerned and--heartbroken. Not embarrassed, never embarrassed.’

After a long moment, Liz dips her head. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘I know.’

He rests his hand on Liz’s shoulder, heart breaking as she flinches. ‘It’s okay, Lilibet. We’re here. We will always be here.’

She nods again, her gaze fixed in her lap, and the tension is broken by the sound of the telephone.

No one moves. The answering machine picks up.

_This is Liz. Please leave a message._

‘Liz, I just saw the news--’ Chrissy says, her voice wavering. ‘Liz, I’m so sorry. Please call me. I don’t want to bother you, so I won’t come over, but--if you need me--’ She hangs up.

After Chrissy’s call, the phone doesn’t stop ringing. Peter and Miranda leave messages, saying they are there if they need anything. Nick Smith calls, crying, telling her that he loves her and he’ll do anything he can to help fix it. Teddy and his brothers call. Audrey and Charlie. Sally Fowler. Diana Hawthorne: ‘I just heard from Ben, Liz, I told him that I'll help with whatever I can--let me know if there's anything I can do--’. Cynthia McLean. Jane Clarke. Friends from Barnard. Michael returns in the middle of yet another message and turns the machine on mute, turns off the ringer on the phone, and embraces Liz.

This is the first time they see her show any emotion. She clutches him, holding him tight, and he and Isobel excuse themselves to unpack the groceries.

‘I need to call Peter,’ he says. ‘I didn’t tell him what happened, we were in the middle of a board meeting.’

Isobel nods, turning away from the fridge to look at him. ‘I was going to call Miranda on the car phone but… I couldn’t. I don’t know how Michael could call us. I just--I can’t believe this is happening.’

He doesn't know what to say. 

Michael comes into the kitchen and says that Liz is taking a bath. He leans against the wall and looks at them. 

‘A friend of mine works at the _Ledger_ ,’ he begins. ‘He beeped me and I gave him a call. He's writing the story--it's gonna be front page, above the fold tomorrow.’

His heart clenches. Mike runs a hand over his eyes. 

‘He told me what they were writing--it's really just rehashing the news report, Melnick’s statement, and then background on Merritt and Liz. Bios, education, family, that sort of thing. He told me they were runnin’ photos. There aren't any of Liz in their file except society photos, but I managed to talk him out of usin’ one from Audrey’s wedding.’ He barks a sudden laugh. ‘She'd hate that, she hated that dress. So he told me they'd use one from her deb ball even though it was old. I cannot fuckin’ believe that it's come to this.’

‘Thank you, Mike,’ Isobel says gently. 

Mike shrugs. ‘It's all I can do right now. Johnny--my friend at the paper--he said he'd keep me updated. And that he’ll try to write the stories, not let them go to someone who’s not gonna be as… understandin’. I told him that she was a friend. If it gets out that we're together… it wouldn't be good for the case.’

‘I can imagine,’ he says. ‘Thank you, Mike.’

‘I shouldn't have let this happen,’ he says, suddenly and fiercely. ‘I dunno if she told you, if I should tell you, but the first time she went to him… he molested her. And she took it to me and Phil and we tried to get him, found out his second wife killed herself on his desk wearin’ a black leather hood, but Stone said it didn't matter, it wouldn't work if it was just her word against his, so she went back and took a tape recorder and recorded it.’

He stops, takes a deep breath, and looks at them. He doesn't need to turn to Isobel to know she's just as floored as him. Oh, God. She did it to get him. Because she wanted to protect other women. And now… 

‘Did you listen to the tape?’ Isobel asks. Mike nods, looking nauseated. ‘What was on it?’

He shakes his head. ‘I can't, Isobel. I can't.’

‘All right,’ she says gently, and he resists the urge to bury his head in his hands. How has it come to this?


	9. Chapter 9

Her parents spend the night. They don’t want to leave her. She doesn’t want them to leave. They all sit up late, talking about nothing, and eventually she can’t stand it any more and says she’s tired. They go to bed first, hugging her tight, and she stands in their embraces trying not to flinch. Once they retire to their room, she looks at Mike.

‘D’you… d’you want me to stay?’ he asks her, his voice tentative. She’s never seen him like this before.

‘I need you to,’ she admits, and runs a hand through her hair. ‘Mike… I don’t… I just need you here.’

He steps forward and folds her into an embrace. ‘I’ll be here, Lizzie. Whatever you need, I’m here.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispers, her face pressed against his chest. She can hear his heartbeat; she clings to the sound as something normal. He runs a hand down her back, kisses the top of her head, and squeezes her tight.

‘Let’s get some rest, Lizzie,’ he tells her, and she nods and lets him lead her down the hallway to their room. The door to the guest room is closed. She can hear the murmur of voices as her parents speak, and she tries to forget why they’re here.

When they reach the bedroom, he closes and locks the door. She’s relieved that he’s locking it; she doesn’t want to seem paranoid, but she… she needs the security of the lock now, even if it’s only for her peace of mind. She goes to her dresser and extracts a tshirt and pajama pants. She doesn’t want to wear one of her nightgowns, not now, not with the bruises… 

‘You want to use the bathroom first?’ Mike offers, and she nods, keeping her gaze away from him.

She doesn’t take long in the bathroom and emerges to find Mike sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He looks up when she comes closer to him.

‘You done?’ he asks, trying to sound normal.

She doesn’t know what to say. She nods and he stands up to take his turn.

She climbs into bed and turns off her bedside light, rolling onto her side and curling up tight. She closes her eyes. Her body aches. 

He joins her after about ten minutes, wearing a tshirt and boxers. He pulls back the covers on his side of the bed and she tenses, worried he’ll try to embrace her.

‘I love you, Lizzie,’ he says softly. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too,’ she whispers, quietly, quietly. He hears her, she knows, because he touches her back, a light, brief touch, then turns over and turns off the light.


	10. Chapter 10

He shoots bolt upright in bed, not realizing at first why he’s been woken up, when he processes that she’s screaming. He fumbles for the light and flips it on. She’s thrashing about and he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t want to grab her and make it worse, so he yells, ‘Lizzie!’ and touches her shoulder.

The scream cuts off as though he’s flicked a switch and she opens her eyes. Her parents are banging on the door, trying to open it, but he’d locked it before they went to bed. He slides out of bed and opens the door. Isobel and Nick are dishevelled from sleep, exhausted, and frantic in their rumpled pyjamas.

‘Nightmare,’ he says briefly, and grief washes over Isobel’s face.

‘Let us know if you need anything,’ Nick says, voice hoarse.

‘Yeah,’ he tells them, and they disappear down the hallway back to the guest room.

She’s sitting up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest, her face washed out in the harsh light.

‘Remember any of it?’ he asks her gently.

She shakes her head.

‘Want to go back to sleep?’ he asks.

She shakes her head again. Okay. Well, he can handle this. He’s experienced with nightmares, he’s had enough of them. He can do this. He can help her.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you some tea, and then let’s go into the living room and read or watch a movie or something. Okay?’

She nods, thankfully, and climbs out of bed. She grabs a sweater before they head to the kitchen, where she sits, shivering, in a chair at the table.

‘What movie d’you want to watch?’ he asks, keeping his voice light. ‘Or would you rather watch one of your awful British shows like To The Manor Born?’

‘They’re not awful,’ she responds weakly, though at least it’s a response. ‘But To The Manor Born sounds good.’

‘Okay, great. As long as it’s one of the ones with the butler. I like him,’ he says.

He turns and catches a weary smile. ‘All right. Glad I’m finally persuading you of the merits of it.’

‘Well, you are very persuasive,’ he says. ‘You’ve got me doin’ a lot of things I wouldn’t’ve been caught dead doin’. Like drinkin’ tea.’

This time she chuckles a little.

‘Camomile all right?’ he asks, and she nods. He pours the boiling water over the tea bags in both mugs, then joins her at the table, sliding one across to her. 

‘Thank you,’ she says softly, looking down at the tea. 

‘No problem,’ he says, still keeping his voice light. ‘Let's get that show goin’, all right?’

 

They get through one tape, four episodes, and when he looks over as the tape comes to an end he notices she’s fallen asleep, head pillowed on the arm of the sofa. She looks peaceful for the first time all day and he's filled with a deep despair. How are they gonna work through this? How is he gonna be able to help her?

She murmurs in her sleep when he gets up to turn off the tv. Grabbing a blanket from the old steamer trunk in the corner, he drapes it over her, then lies down next to her on the sofa, gathering her into his arms before tugging some of the blanket over him. She moves closer to him in her sleep and he closes his eyes against his own guilt and grief.


	11. Chapter 11

She wakes up stiff and sore and is confused for a moment why she is on the sofa when it all comes back. She must move, or make a sound, because Mike is suddenly awake. 

‘You okay?’ he asks, voice drowsy with sleep, and for the first time she doesn't feel her stomach clench with desire. She pushes herself up to sit and he does, too, leaning back against the opposite arm of the sofa. 

They don't say anything. She can hear someone in the kitchen--probably her father. The clock on the mantel reads 6:33; he follows her gaze. 

‘Do you have to go in today?’ she asks. 

‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘I should probably start getting ready, but I can call in sick.’

She forces herself to shake her head although she has no idea how she’ll be able to last today without him. 

‘Your mom’s gonna stay today, remember,’ he reminds her, and her heart unclenches a little. She nods. 

‘You should get ready then,’ she says, and he leans across the sofa, hand outstretched. After a long moment she lays her hand in his and he squeezes it. 

‘I love you,’ he says softly. 

‘I love you too,’ she replies, needing to say it and knowing he needs to hear it. He leans forward and kisses her forehead briefly before heading to the bedroom. She waits a few minutes and then goes into the kitchen. 

Her father is there, sitting at the table in his dressing gown, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept, and her heart clenches when she realizes that, for the first time, he looks his age. 

‘Hi, darling,’ he says, forcing a smile. ‘Want some coffee?’

Some of the numbness from yesterday has worn off. She's aware, now, of an aching sense of loss, of violation. She tries, and fails, to keep that from showing on her face. Her father looks utterly, utterly bereft. 

‘Yes, thanks,’ she says, and the moment passes. He stands from the table to pour her a cup and she pulls out a chair, wincing as she sinks into it. She catches her father’s horrified glance as he turns to hand her her coffee; she drops her gaze immediately and he swallows. 

‘I have to go into the bank this morning,’ he says, ‘but I'll be back as soon as I can. Your mother and I can stay as long as you want.’

‘Thank you,’ she says quietly. ‘Daddy--please bring a copy of the _Ledger_ home.’

‘Sweetheart--’

‘Please. Actually, I'd like you to get one now. And the Times. And any other paper that mentions this.’ She doesn't look up at him.

‘Are you sure?’ he asks, voice soft but not pitying, thank God. 

‘I need to know.’

‘All right,’ her father says after a long moment. ‘I'll pick up some breakfast, too.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispers, and takes a scalding sip of coffee. He stands up and touches her shoulder lightly as he leaves the kitchen to get dressed. 

Her mother comes into the kitchen shortly after her father goes to dress. She, too, looks her age this morning, her silver-streaked auburn hair disheveled. She's dressed already in khakis and a light blue sweater set she probably found in the dresser--they both keep spare clothes here--and she pours herself a cup of coffee before sitting down. 

‘Daddy said he was going to go out and get breakfast.’

‘And the papers,’ she says, and her mother drops her gaze.

‘Yes.’ Her mother pauses. ‘Are you sure, darling, that you want to see them?’

God, no, of course she doesn’t want to see them, but she has to, she has to face it… she nods. 

Her mother says, ‘What do you want to do today?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admits. ‘I need to listen to my messages.’

‘I can do that,’ her mother offers.

She shakes her head. ‘I need to. And I need to call my secretary, and see if Rebecca can cover my patients, and I--I need to make an appointment with her myself.’ She came to that conclusion last night, watching television with Mike. She needs help, desperately, she knows that, even if this hasn’t fully hit her yet.

‘I’ll do that, darling,’ her mother says, and this time she nods, grateful to her mother, to taking this out of her hands.

‘Thank you,’ she says. She takes another sip of coffee, lukewarm now, but she needs the caffeine and the comfort of it.

They sit in silence. She’s grateful that her mother is here, that her father is, that Mike is--that they care enough for her to be here. But she just… she wants to be alone, to curl up in a ball and cry and take a five-hour-long shower and just… forget.

Instead she takes another sip of coffee.

Her father and Mike enter the kitchen together and she suddenly feels as though she can’t breathe. The kitchen is large for New York apartments and the table in the kitchen has four chairs, but--she stands up suddenly, almost tipping over the chair.

‘Lizzie, what is it?’ Mike asks, but she--she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, her heart is racing, she has to--

‘It’s okay, Lilibet,’ her mother says, standing up and resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s okay.’

Mike and her father move away from the door; Mike guides her father over to the counter near the coffee pot, giving her some space, and her heartbeat slows, the panic recedes, and her shoulders slump.

‘What happened?’ her father asks from near the coffee pot.

‘Panic attack,’ Mike says before she can reply or even realize what happened. ‘It’s okay.’

She looks at him, seeing the slump of his shoulders and the pain in his eyes and she closes her eyes, unable to help him now. 

‘I'm going to get breakfast,’ her father says. 

‘I've got to head into the precinct,’ Mike tells her. ‘Can we talk for a minute?’

She's grateful he's giving her an excuse to leave this cramped space, and nods, and follows him to the living room. 

‘You sure you want me to go in?’ he asks her. ‘No one’s gonna mind--’

‘I want you to get him,’ she tells him. 

His gaze is flinty. ‘I will. I promise, Lizzie.’

‘Good.’ That's all she can say. 

‘Can I give you a hug?’ he asks her softly, and she nods. He approaches her slowly and God, she appreciates that he knows what she's going through, how he should behave, even as her heart aches at the fact that it's necessary at all… his embrace is comforting, warm, solid, and she's reminded again how grateful she is they've found each other. 

‘I love you,’ she whispers. 

‘I love you too, Lizzie,’ he tells her. ‘I'll call when I'm leaving work.’

‘Okay,’ she says, and he kisses her forehead lightly before heading down the hallway. She hears him say goodbye to her parents and then he's gone.

A few minutes later, her father sticks his head in the living room to say he’ll be right back. She nods, forces a smile, and he leaves, too. 

 

The papers are worse than she expected. It's surreal to read these articles, to see a photo of herself, the portrait photograph her parents had insisted on when she was a debutante, the one that was published in the Social Register, juxtaposed next to the police photo of Merritt’s second wife, dead, sprawled on his desk wearing a leather hood… 

She tries to read the article as though it's about no one she knows. 

_Dr. Alex Merritt, (Harvard ‘61, Cornell Med ‘64) has had an illustrious career as an OB/GYN to Manhattan’s wealthy women. With privileges at only the best hospitals, awards and accolades by the truckload, and the ability to charge $150 an appointment (no insurance accepted), one would be forgiven for thinking that Dr. Merritt was an unimpeachable expert in the field._

_Dr. Merritt has been accused of drugging and raping a patient, Dr. Elizabeth Olivet (see below for Dr. Olivet’s credentials and biography) yesterday. Dr. Merritt has been married twice. His first marriage ended in divorce, but his second marriage ended in the suicide of his second wife, Teresa, age 23. His wife was found in his office, on his desk, wearing a leather harness and hood that are common in the deviant sexual underworld._

_‘Merritt is a lifetime member of the Marquis Club,’ a NYPD detective told our reporter. Marquis as in Marquis de Sade, we are told, where participants routinely participate in BDSM sexual practices._

_Dr. Merritt’s attorney, Danielle Melnick, has released the following statement: Dr. Merritt is a respected gynecologist and pillar of the community. He has worked at some of our city’s best hospitals and is widely recognized as a leader in the field. He vehemently denies these accusations._

_The alleged victim, Dr. Elizabeth Olivet (Farmington, Barnard ‘82, Columbia PhD ‘86) is the daughter of New York Trust Bank President Nicholas Olivet and his wife Isobel. Dr. Olivet was presented at the Debutante Cotillion and Christmas Ball in 1978. Dr. Olivet has worked in private practice and is currently the in-house psychologist at the 27th Precinct in Manhattan. We have reached out to Dr. Olivet for comment but have not heard back._

God, seeing the picture of herself ten years ago, happy, enjoying herself and her life… and now… and next to the picture of Merritt’s dead wife… 

She sets down the paper, excuses herself, and vomits up the bagel she had for breakfast as soon as she reaches the bathroom. 

 

Her mother comes in to find her in the bathroom, back pressed against the glass wall of the shower, clutching her knees to her chest. She vomited again a few minutes ago and she feels clammy and sick.

‘Let’s get you into bed,’ her mother says, taking charge. She lets her, and climbs between the sheets, closes her eyes, and lets her hold her tight.

 

She dozes for much of the day. She's exhausted from yesterday, from not sleeping last night, and even now, taking another shower at 4 pm, she is still tired. Her mother has spent the entire day with her, holding her while she slept, reading her books--her favorites from when she was little--making her lunch and snacks… she feels like she’s slipped out of time, out of herself, and somehow she’s fallen back to her childhood, when she was ill…

She does let her mother listen to her messages, which she does while she sleeps. When she woke up again, her mother told her she’d handled almost all of the phone calls and that she should take a shower, first, before going through the messages she needs to respond to.

So here she is, in the shower. She’s already been here so long her fingers and toes have pruned. She doesn’t want to get out yet, though. Here, in the shower, she feels clean. But her mother is knocking on the door, asking if she’s all right, so she has to get out.

She takes her time getting changed, blow-drying her hair, and putting on real clothes. She does all the little things she doesn’t have time for during her morning routine--examining her face for wrinkles, plucking a stray eyebrow hair, rubbing lotion into her skin. Finally, though, there’s nothing else she can do. She pulls on one of Mike’s sweaters, a long-sleeved tshirt, and leggings, and goes into the living room. She can hear voices as she walks down the hall--maybe her father is home?--but when she enters the living room she sees it’s Diana Hawthorne.

‘Liz!’ Diana says, jumping up from her seat, though thankfully she doesn’t try to give her a hug. ‘Hi. I just wanted to stop by, see how you were doing, give you an update.’

‘Diana brought you some flowers, Liz,’ her mother says, indicating the bouquet on the table. ‘Lilies.’

‘Not just from me, but from Jack and Ben and Paul…’ Diana trails off as she comes into the room, taking a seat on the end of the sofa.

‘I’ll leave you two to chat,’ Mummy says, ‘I need to call Miranda. She and Peter will be here around 7.’ She forces a smile. Her mother squeezes her shoulder as she leaves the room.

‘How are you doing?’ Diana asks, suddenly serious. She leans back against the arm of the sofa and looks at her. She and Diana have known each other for years, since their last year in grad school, when they met at a women’s shelter, and she's enjoyed working with her. She is a good lawyer and a good friend. She can be honest with her in a way she's reluctant to be with her parents or even Mike… even if she can’t.

‘As you may expect,’ she says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Sore. Bruised.’

Diana nods, her expression growing solemn. ‘I know. Well, I wanted to give you an update--the case is assigned to Judge Silver. Melnick filed a motion to have the courtroom sealed to the press and Silver approved.’

‘Well, that's something,’ she replies. ‘Though I wouldn't put it past the ghouls from the Ledger to sneak someone in.’

Diana nods. ‘I know. But… it's better than nothing.’

‘That's true,’ she admits, though her voice sounds false to herself. Even though she doesn't want the press to focus on herself, she wants everyone to know that he is a bad man… even if she can’t bear the thought of anyone hearing the tape… oh, God.

She closes her eyes.

‘I was raped,’ Diana says quietly, and she opens her eyes to look at her. Her usually elegant friend is nervous, running a hand through her coiffed blonde hair. ‘Second year of law school. I was on a date with a classmate and we’d gone back to my place, and he drugged my drink and…’ she breaks off and looks away. ‘My roommate came in. When he was in the middle… I was unconscious. My roommate called the cops, locked the guy in the bathroom, and tried to wake me up. He couldn't, and he had to call an ambulance, too. I woke up in the hospital the next afternoon. The guy who… he took a plea. A six month suspended sentence, two years probation, and a thousand-dollar fine. And I was glad he took a plea, you know, because… my career hadn't even started, I didn't want to be known as the lawyer who was raped…’ she takes a deep breath. ‘He did it again, though. He's still in jail.’

There's a bitter twist to her mouth when Diana says, ‘they told me I was “lucky.” They kept saying it. “Lucky.” “Lucky” that my roommate came in. “Lucky” that I was unconscious and don't remember it. “Lucky” the guy got punished. And I guess I am. In the scheme of things. And that's why I started volunteering at the women’s shelter, to help women who weren't “lucky.”’

‘I had no idea,’ she says, quiet, responding not as a psychologist for once but as a friend, as a woman who has gone through this, too… 

‘I didn't really tell anyone. It took me a long time to trust men again, besides my roommate. Well, he wasn’t interested in women, so that helped, but… people kept telling me it would get better.’

‘Doesn't it?’ she asks, heart sinking. 

‘No,’ Diana says. ‘I won't sugarcoat it, I hated that, I know you would too… it gets different, but it's always there. Every man… God, until Jack, I had to tell friends where I was going, and what time I’d expect to be home, and… and I lived with my roommate for a lot longer than I needed to, because then at least I felt safe.’

‘I'm sorry,’ she says, and she is--sorry for Diana and sorry for herself, that this will never be over… she knew it, she's had enough rape victims as patients, but to hear it from someone who is like her… 

Diana shakes her head. ‘That's not what I meant. I meant… I wanted you to know that you aren’t alone, Liz. That you can talk to me if you want, or need to talk to someone who has been through it because _I_ have been through it too… I know how you are feeling and… look, Liz, anything you need--if I can help you in any way--’

‘Thank you,’ she says, reaching out to take Diana’s hand, stemming her flow of words. ‘I appreciate it. I appreciate it more than you know.’ And God, she does, the knowledge that someone understands, that she is hear and someone she knows, someone who is helping with her case… 

Diana squeezes her hand. ‘Any time. I mean it. It's good that you have a good support system,’ she adds. ‘Your parents, friends, family…’

Her front door opens and closes.

‘Lizzie, I'm home,’ Mike calls from the foyer, and Diana raises an eyebrow. 

‘I didn't realize you were seeing someone,’ she says. 

‘For about a year. We’ve… kept things quiet, and I’d appreciate it if you would, too,’ she says, and Diana nods, barely conceals her surprise when Mike enters the living room. 

‘Hey, Diana,’ Mike says after a moment, also surprised though he doesn’t have a chance to hide it. He leans against the wall. ‘How are you?’

‘I'm fine, Mike, how are you?’

‘Could be better,’ he says, flicking his gaze to her, then back again. ‘Come to visit Lizzie?’

She nods. ‘I’ve got to get going, though. Remember, Liz, call me if you need anything.’

‘I will. Thanks again, Diana.’

She nods, gives her a quick peck on the cheek, then stands. She and Mike give each other an awkward nod, then Diana edges past him. They can hear her pick up her coat and leave the apartment. 

‘How’re you doin’?’ he asks. 

She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Diana came to give me an update. And to talk.’

‘Yeah?’ he asks, voice tight. 

‘We've known each other a long time. Since grad school. We volunteered at a women’s shelter together.’

The tension in his shoulders eases at the unspoken message that she was here as a friend, not a colleague. ‘I didn't know. Nice you stayed friends, though.’

She nods. ‘How was your day?’ she asks, as though today is just a normal day. 

He shrugs. ‘Same old, same old.’

It's not, they both know that he's lying, but she lets it go.

‘Mummy’s on the phone with Miranda,’ she says. ‘Or she was. They're coming over tonight for dinner.’

‘Okay,’ he replies. ‘I'll get changed, then.’

‘I need to, too,’ she says. ‘And I want to take a shower.’

She sees concern flicker in his eyes but she ignores it. Even after five showers she still doesn't feel clean. She doesn't know how long it will take but she needs to wash, needs to feel at peace… 

‘When are they gonna get here?’ he asks instead. 

‘Around 7.’ It’s 5:30 now, she notes. God, this day has lasted forever… 

‘Okay,’ he says, standing up. ‘I'm gonna need to shower too. Want to go first?’

She shakes her head. She wants to take her time; she won't be able to do that if she knows he's waiting. 

‘You sure?’ She nods and he says, ‘okay. I'll be out in a bit.’

‘Okay,’ she manages, and watches as he walks out of the room. Once he's gone, she subsides back onto the sofa, closing her eyes. 

It's the first time she's been alone, really alone, since it happened. Even when she was in the shower or bath either her mother or Mike would check on her, but she needs time alone, time to herself… 

Her whole body aches. The bruises he’d left have only darkened. It feels as though half of her body is a bruise. 

She doesn't know how she’ll be able to go back to work. Not now. When?

How will she be able to interview suspects or victims or work with her patients? How will she be able to just sit there?

And Diane… changing therapists now will be detrimental for her but… she can't help her any more. 

Listening to her messages today… she's told her secretary to handle any work calls, but calls from her friends… she's not going to be able to respond to them. Not now. And then the flowers… God, how inappropriate, and how welcomed, and how many…

An arrangement from Audrey and Charlie. Roses from Nick. Daisies from Jane, Sally, and Cynthia. Diana had brought a sheaf of lilies. 

It feels as though someone’s died. Well, that's not an inappropriate comparison. She’s lost herself. The woman she was--happy and confident and energetic--is gone. Who is left?

She hears footsteps in the hall and raises her hand to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. 

It’s Mike. He’s freshly showered, hair still damp, dressed in jeans and an untucked oxford shirt. How long has she been sitting here, if he’s already out of the shower?

‘You okay?’ he asks her, looking concerned, coming closer slowly, slowly. She forces herself to take a deep breath, to still the racing of her heart that has nothing to do with how much she loves him.

‘Peter and Miranda are gonna be here soon, Lizzie. D’you still want to shower?’

She shakes her head, draws her knees to her chest, wincing as her bruises ache again, and yet again.

‘D’you want some tea?’

She shakes her head again.

‘Can I sit down?’ he asks, standing at the end of the couch.

She forces herself to nod and he takes a seat, still moving slowly. In the psychologist-portion of her mind, she knows exactly what he’s doing and she appreciates it more than she can say. Making sure she knows she’s in control of her environment, that she can tell him no and he’ll listen, that she’s safe… but in the other part of her mind, the one that’s at the forefront now, she’s heartbroken that it’s come to this, that she can’t just be happy that he’s here with her, that they can’t be embracing, or making love--she shudders, involuntarily. She can’t imagine being so close with anyone, even him, right now… 

‘Lizzie?’ he says softly, and she forces herself to meet his gaze. ‘It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get past this. It’s gonna be okay.’

‘Will it?’ she asks him, and she almost flinches from the bitterness in her tone.

He nods and she crumples.


	12. Chapter 12

When Father Joe… God, he doesn’t think about this, doesn’t acknowledge it, ever, but.... when it happened, he didn’t have anyone. He was fourteen and he couldn’t tell anyone. No one would believe him. And he was angry.

He was so fucking angry.

Because what he’d done… he took something away from him. And after that… well, everything was different. Even his mother’s fists couldn’t touch him, not when he was hurting way more than she’d ever be able to hurt him.

And when he got older, well… he had a lot of sex. Because sex--if it wasn’t a big deal then what happened wasn’t a big deal, either. And he could accept that. And he could pretend it didn’t matter because nothing mattered, just the feel of a warm body against his and the satisfaction from that.

He had a reputation. He embraced it, even. Mike Logan, man about town. He could have any woman he wanted and while he didn’t treat them _well_ … well, he’d never, ever make a woman feel like he’d felt.

And then there was Liz.

He tried to deny it for a while after they’d first had sex, but he knew he couldn’t. From the very first he couldn’t get enough of her and that still hadn’t changed. She was… she was special. They had a connection from the start. She knew almost everything there was to know about him--not this--but almost everything else and loved him and never, ever pitied him, and wanted him, and needed him… 

She made him feel special. Loved. Like he was worth something. And he never realized he’d been looking for that all his life.

He rubs his hand over his eyes. Christ. And now this happened. He doesn’t know… he’s not good at being there for people, not in the deeply personal sense he’d needed all those years ago, not in the way she needs him now. But she needs _him_. And he… he has to help her, his heart is breaking for her, he’s gonna figure it out because he loves her, he’s in love with her… 

He’d been saving up money these past couple months. For a ring. He’d been saving it up without admitting to himself what it was for but after the Fourth of July… when they’d talked about having kids… well, he finally felt safe enough to admit it to himself. He wants to marry her. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

After this… he can’t burden her with that. With a ring, with his issues, with planning a wedding… 

He’ll put it on hold. Because he wants to marry her, but he wants her to want to marry him, and not feel like she has to say yes because she loves him when really she just needs him to hold her and love her and keep her safe… 

She doesn’t need the baggage right now. And later, when they tell people they’re gonna get married, when they do get engaged… he wants her to be happy to tell the story. He doesn’t want her to have to say, “We got engaged after I got raped.” And he doesn’t want her to question his motivations. He wants her to know that he wants to marry her irregardless of this. Because he does love her, more than he ever thought he’d be able to love someone.

His phone rings, and he picks it up, and makes mindless notes about an autopsy result Rodgers has finished. When he hangs up the phone, he’s still not focused on work, but on her birthday.

They were gonna go away together at the beginning of next week. He did the research, found a little inn in Rhinebeck, and they were gonna spend a couple days there. They always go to Connecticut or to Peter and Miranda’s place in the Hamptons when they have some time off; he wanted to go somewhere new with her. That’s not gonna happen now; he’ll have to call and cancel. And he’s gonna have to get her something else for her birthday… he’d brought her flowers the day of, and a card, but the real present was the trip and some sexy underwear… yeah, that’s inappropriate now, he’s gotta figure something else out… 

Nick had told him this morning, when they’d talked, that they thought they’d have a small cake and presents tomorrow night. He’d shrugged--honestly, he doesn’t know if they should do that, but maybe it’ll be better for her to feel like things are going back to normal… 

So he has till tomorrow to get something for her.

‘Why don’t you head home early, Mikey?’ Donny says, appearing out of nowhere. ‘There’s nothing much going on today.’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, pushing his chair back from his desk. ‘Thanks.’

He nods. ‘Tell Liz we hope she feels better soon.’

‘Yeah,’ he says again. ‘I will.’

He grabs his coat and heads out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Peter accompanies him back to the apartment.

‘Miranda will meet us there,’ he said when he came to his office. ‘Let’s go.’

They are silent as his driver takes them up to 76th and Park. Neither of them know what to say.

Isobel opens the door when they knock--she’d called him at the office in the afternoon and told him that Liz wanted to keep the door on the chain--and his heart breaks as he looks at her.

‘Not getting better?’ he asks softly, after Peter greets her and steps into the foyer. She shakes her head and embraces him, holding him close.

‘Mike and Liz are in the living room with Miranda,’ she tells them. ‘I’ll bring in drinks in a minute.’

‘Thank you, my dear,’ Peter says, squeezing her shoulder. They hang up their coats in the closet and head back to the living room.

Mike has built a fire again, though at least today has been a chillier, grey, and drizzly day. The warmth is welcome. Liz is curled up in the corner of the sofa, tucked next to Mike, who has his arm around her. Miranda is perched in the armchair nearest Liz and is carrying on an animated monologue about an exhibition she saw at the Grand Palais last week.

‘Hi, darling,’ Peter says when Miranda finishes her sentence.

‘Hi, Peter,’ she replies, voice shaking almost imperceptibly. Mike tightens his embrace.

He walks over to Liz and bends to kiss her cheek; none of them miss her sudden white-knuckled grip on Mike’s hand, or the way she tenses. Peter’s face falls, but he moves back quickly and gives her a clear exit. He sits down in the slipper chair by the fire and Peter joins him, shooting him a look filled with pain.

Isobel comes in, breaking the tension, carrying a tray of drinks she sets down on the coffee table. He collects his scotch and Peter’s; Isobel hands Miranda a glass of Sancerre, takes one for herself, and hands Liz a mug of tea and Mike a beer.

‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?’ Isobel asks their daughter, who nods stiffly and clutches her mug of tea.

The silence is excruciating. Miranda tries several topics of conversation, all of which are met by Liz’s stunned silence, her head dipped as she looks into her drink as though she could read the future in it.

Peter finally addresses Mike, asking what he thinks of the Yankees this season. Only when everyone, except Liz, becomes involved in the conversation does she relax, take a sip of tea, and move closer to Mike.

Dinner is worse. They get takeout and eat in the living room, but with Chinese Liz can’t sit under Mike’s arm. She tenses, eats only a few bites, and then finally excuses herself. After ten minutes, when she doesn’t reappear, Mike goes to look for her.

‘Oh, God,’ Miranda whispers as soon as Mike leaves the room. ‘Oh, Lilibet…’

Isobel is trying not to cry; she looks down and away from them. ‘I made her an appointment with Rebecca for tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Why not a psychologist?’ Miranda asks.

Isobel shrugs. ‘She asked me to make an appointment with Rebecca. I did.’

He buries his head in his hands.

They sit in silence.

Mike returns and says, ‘she’s gonna take a shower and go to bed. She asked me to tell you goodnight from her.’ After a moment, he says, ‘I’m gonna make sure she’s okay. Good night.’

‘Good night,’ they reply, and Mike nods, heading back down the hallway.

‘At least she has Mike,’ Peter offers.

‘Yes,’ Isobel replies, her voice hollow. ‘He’s good for her. But my poor Lilibet…’


	14. Chapter 14

She can't stand to sit here any longer, not with all these people, not without Mike’s arm around her. It doesn't matter that these people are her family, right now she just needs to be alone and safe and…

She excuses herself, pushing away the chow mein that tastes like ashes in her mouth, and makes for her bedroom. 

She will take another shower, she decides, and opens the linen closet where she keeps extra towels. She's already gone through all of the ones in the bathroom and in the closet in the bathroom. 

Underneath the stack of towels is a wrapped present and card for her. It's from Mike; the card says _To Lizzie on her birthday_.

Suddenly she's sitting on the ground in front of the closet, opening the card, desperate for something positive. 

The card says, _I am so lucky you're mine, Lizzie. I've organized a couple days off for us early next week and we're going to go up to Rhinebeck. I can't wait to have some time alone with you._

_Love always, Mike_

She opens the box. Beneath the layers of tissue paper is a delicate confection of midnight blue silk and lace, beautiful, expensive, something that she would have loved to wear for him even a few days ago. Horrified at the sight now, and her response to it, she slams the lid back on the box, tosses it into the closet, and weeps. 

He comes and finds her some time later, lifting her up out of the debris of wrapping paper and scattered towels, carrying her over to the bed. 

‘I was gonna get rid of that after you went to bed,’ he says. ‘I'm so sorry, Lizzie.’

She shakes her head. ‘Not your fault,’ she manages before tears overtake her again. He holds her close, rocking her back and forth, letting her cry. 

Finally the tears abate and she lifts her head. ‘I'm going to take a bath.’

He nods, presses a kiss to her forehead, and says, ‘I'll tell everyone goodnight from you, then, and I'll be back.’

She nods and stands up, wobbling, and he rubs her arm before he leaves the room to tell her family.

She goes into the bathroom and makes the bath water as hot as she can stand. When she gets into the bath, her skin flushes from the heat, and for a few minutes she can forget the bruises that still mar her skin. 

He knocks on the door and she curses silently at the sudden racing of her heart. ‘Yes?’

‘Can I come in, Lizzie?’

‘Okay,’ she says after a moment. She’s poured in bubble bath mixture, so at least he can’t see the bruises, so… 

He opens the door. He looks worn out, exhausted, though he summons up a smile for her as he dumps the towels on the chair in the corner onto the side of the counter, then sits down.

‘You know how you always thought you were missin’ somethin’?’ he begins, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ‘When I was seein’ you after Max?’

She nods slowly, watching as he sighs.

‘Well, you were. It’s not--it’s not somethin’ I’ve told anyone. Ever,’ he says. ‘And… look, I just want you to know… I’m tellin’ you this because I want to help you, I want to be there for you, but I don’t know that I know how to be there in the way you need me to be, I just know how I needed someone…’ He sighs again, an explosive sound this time, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks down at the floor. ‘There was a priest. Father Joe. He… well, you know. When I was fourteen.’

 _Oh_ , she thinks to herself, raising a bubble-covered hand to pass over her eyes. ‘Oh, Mike,’ she says softly, sadly.

‘Yeah,’ he says, still looking at the ground. ‘I didn’t tell anyone. And I… I was so angry, after that. And then… y’know, if sex wasn’t a big deal then what he did didn’t mean anything, and so…’ he trails off helplessly. ‘Things are different with you. From the first time… I knew it was different. And bein’ with you… that’s helped me so much, Lizzie, to finally get past that… I just want to be able to do the same for you, to help you…’

‘You are,’ she tells him softly. ‘I know this will only get worse before it gets better, Mike, but already… I need you so much right now.’

He looks up and meets her eyes. ‘And I’m here, Lizzie, whatever you need. But sometimes… I might not know what you need, and I’ll need you to tell me, but anything I can do…’

She stretches out a hand and squeezes his knee, knowing precisely how much this cost him to tell her. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘I know.’


	15. Chapter 15

She falls asleep quickly, after her bath, after dressing in a voluminous cotton nightgown he’s never seen before. He’s seen the bruises again, now, both on her body and in the photos from the hospital, and he’s made an effort not to flinch when she climbs out of the bath and into the towel he holds for her. She climbs into bed, between the covers, and is asleep in almost an instant, wet hair dampening the towel he’s spread across her pillow.

He heads back to the living room. Peter and Miranda are still here, talking in quiet voices to a bereft Isobel. Nick appears a minute later with a refreshed tray of drinks, and he sinks into the vacant slipper chair by the fire.

‘How is she?’ Miranda asks.

‘Asleep,’ he says shortly, accepting the glass of scotch Nick hands him. ‘She’s wiped out.’

Miranda nods. ‘I can imagine.’

‘I’m taking her to see a psychiatrist tomorrow,’ Isobel says. ‘Rebecca. She’s a family friend; Liz worked in her practice right after she got her license.’

‘Good,’ he says. He doesn’t buy into the mumbo-jumbo but he can’t deny that talking to Liz helped him after Max, and besides--it doesn’t matter if he believes in it because she does.

‘I went through her messages today,’ Isobel begins. ‘And Ben Stone called; he’s prosecuting. He wants Liz to come in on Monday for witness prep, he said. And he said that the trial has been scheduled to begin on November 2nd.’

‘So soon,’ he replies, surprised. ‘I hadn’t heard. That’s quick.’

‘Is it?’ Nick asks. ‘Over a month after the bastard was charged…’

He shrugs. ‘Usually takes a couple months. I’ll have to call Stone, see when I’m gonna be prepped.’

‘Is it a strong case?’ Peter asks.

‘Pretty strong. There’s the tape, the photos of the bruises, the hospital report… but there isn’t any forensic evidence of her bein’ drugged. It’d passed out of her system by then. And this sort of thing usually comes down to he said, she said, but there’s the tape, and Lizzie is a credible witness.’

Peter sighs. ‘They’d better get him. Because if they don’t…’

‘Yeah,’ he replies softly. ‘I’ll kill him.’

‘I’ll help,’ Nick says, and he looks up at Liz’s father, startled. He meets his steady grey gaze and sees the anger and determination there. Something in his heart unclenches.

‘Good.’


	16. Chapter 16

‘I don’t know how to do this,’ she says, pulling her cardigan tight around her. 

‘Do what?’ Rebecca asks.

She’s sitting in Rebecca’s office, where she’s spent hours of her life and her early career. She’d thought she’d be more comfortable here, but she’s not, she’s antsy and nervous and she just wants to be back in her apartment, behind the locked doors and safe… 

‘Be a victim,’ she admits, meeting Rebecca’s steady gaze. ‘I’m good at my job. I’m good at helping people through things. But for me… I don’t know what to tell myself. I don’t know what to say.’

‘Well, you spent years in school learning how to help people, but no one teaches you how to be on the couch,’ Rebecca tells her. ‘But that’s why you’re here. At least you realize you need help, Liz.’

‘It’s only going to get worse,’ she says softly. ‘I know it will get worse. Witness prep with Stone on Monday, the trial… did you see the _Ledger_ yesterday? And today? I walked into the building and the security guard downstairs looked at me with pity. Because he knew exactly what happened. Because he thinks that he knows me, after reading those articles, all about me and my family and…’ she trails off. ‘It will only get worse.’

‘It won’t last forever. The trial happens in the beginning of November. That’s just over a month away. It’ll die down, and then after the trial… it’ll be over. At least in the press.’

‘I hope so,’ she says. ‘God, I hope so.’


	17. Chapter 17

Nick brings home a cake from the bakery where they’ve always bought her birthday cakes. Liz went to take a nap after her appointment with Rebecca; she’d emerged after an hour subdued and less… frozen than she had been. But she was exhausted. She’d almost fallen asleep in the ride home--Nick had insisted they take his car and driver--and did fall asleep as soon as she changed back into pyjamas. She’s slept for four hours, which was good, because she’d woken up in the middle of the night again, screaming, and she needed her sleep.

Mike comes home early, too, carrying a big bouquet of roses and a wrapped box. She’d had Nina bring their presents to Liz down from the house. She’d stayed to see Liz, who had accepted her hug, but who had to force herself to hold a conversation with her. When Liz had disappeared to take yet another shower Nina had hugged her, told her to call if they needed anything, and drove back up to Darien.

While Liz was sleeping she’d tried to make the apartment look festive. She’d hung streamers, arranged the flowers that had been delivered, and had set out the presents. She did the best that she could do, though somehow her efforts looked… flat.

When Mike gets home, he adds his present to the stack and disappears to find Liz. Nick arrived soon after, and hugged her, and produced the cake. After about fifteen minutes, Liz and Mike reappeared, a smile pasted on her face.

The celebration is not really much of one. Liz exclaims in forced delight over her presents--a cashmere sweater and a pair of emerald earrings from them, and a silk shawl, black with large red poppies, from Mike.

‘It's beautiful, thank you,’ she tells him, squeezing his hand. 

She brings out a bottle of champagne with dinner; Nina had made and brought down one of Liz’s favorite dishes, a chicken with mustard sauce, and fresh-baked bread. Liz still doesn’t eat much, less than a quarter of what’s on her plate, though she hides it underneath her silverware.

They ignore it, though she knows that Mike and Nick notice as well, and she resolves to talk to them about this later. Now that she thinks about it, she realizes she hasn’t had more than one or two bites of anything since… 

She collects the plates, with Mike’s help, and brings them to the kitchen.

‘She’s not eating,’ he says bluntly, closing the kitchen door behind him. ‘Hasn’t had more than a mouthful of anything.’

‘I noticed,’ she says, abandoning the dishes on the counter and sinking down into one of the kitchen chairs. ‘What does this mean, Mike?’

‘We’ve gotta make sure she eats. If she doesn’t… hell, I’m not the shrink, Isobel, but it’s a bad sign.’

‘I know,’ she says quietly. ‘Well, let’s see if she has some cake. It’s her favorite.’ She bursts into tears.

Mike sits down next to her and awkwardly pats her shoulder. ‘It’s gonna be okay, Isobel. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.’

‘I wish I could believe that,’ she says, brushing tears away. ‘I need to put the candles on the cake.’

He squeezes her shoulder and lets her stand up. ‘Okay. I’ll carry the plates and stuff in.’

‘Thank you, Michael.’

 

She sticks the candles--a 3, a 1, and a regular birthday candle--into the cake. Michael has gathered the plates, forks, cake server, and napkins and has stacked them on a tray. She lights the candles with a trembling hand.

‘D’you want me to carry it?’ Michael offers softly.

She shakes her head and picks up the cake. ‘Let’s go.’

Her hands are shaking badly again as she carries the small cake into the living room. She starts to sing Happy Birthday, her voice wavering, but then Michael and Nick chime in. Liz forces yet another smile, this one even more strained, as the song comes to a ragged end.

‘Happy birthday, darling,’ Nick says. ‘Make a wish.’

Liz closes her eyes abruptly for a long minute, before leaning forward to blow out the candles. She opens her eyes, which are shining with tears, and says, ‘thank you. Should I cut the cake?’

Mike sinks down on the sofa next to her, rubbing her back, and she turns to him and buries her face in his chest. He wraps his arms around her and leans back, bringing her with him.

She and Nick sit in silence and she tries not to watch them, her daughter, in so much pain… eventually Liz straightens up, rubs her eyes, and says, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m just--I’m not up to this tonight.’

‘That’s all right, darling,’ she says, and Liz stands up and leaves the room without another word.

‘I should’ve known better,’ Mike mutters to himself, then looks at them. ‘Sorry, Isobel, Nick.’

‘Nothing to apologize for,’ Nick says, because she can’t manage to say anything. ‘We’re very grateful to you, for your help.’

She nods stiffly.

Michael rubs a hand over his eyes and yawns. ‘Sorry,’ he apologizes. ‘I’m gonna go be with her.’

‘Thank you,’ Nick says.

‘Yeah. Good night,’ Michael says, and they echo him as he heads back to Liz.

When he’s gone, she turns to her husband.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asks softly.

‘I don’t know,’ her husband whispers. ‘I don’t know, Isobel.’

She walks over to him and he pulls her down onto his lap, cradling her, and she closes her eyes.

‘Michael told me that everything would be all right, but it won’t, will it?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know,’ he says again.


	18. Chapter 18

She insists they go home on Sunday. After Friday, after her birthday celebration… she can’t stand to watch them any more, can’t stand to see how much they are hurting, too, when she can’t even deal with what she’s feeling… at least it’s different with Mike, because he knows what she’s going through, more than she’d thought… 

They don’t want to go, but they do eventually, and she sighs in relief when they are finally alone. She knows that this will end, sooner rather than later, but right now… she just wants to be, and not have to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.

Tomorrow he has to go to work and she has to go down to Hogan Place. She doesn’t know how she can face her friends, her colleagues… she’ll have to. She walks over to her closet. She’ll have to wear pants tomorrow, the bruises… they’d be visible if she wore a skirt. She finds a pair of grey flannel pants and a navy sweater. She’s cold now, all the time, so even though it’s just the beginning of fall she wants the warmth of heavier clothes.

That decided, she goes into the living room to find Mike. He’s sprawled on the sofa, his eyes closed, the television on in the background. He looks exhausted--he hasn’t been sleeping because she hasn’t been sleeping, and he needs his sleep. She doesn't want to wake him up, so she walks silently back to her room. She'll take a shower. 

He's waiting for her when she emerges nearly an hour later. She hates the way she jumps slightly--she wasn't expecting to see him. It's late, now, nearly 11, and he's stretched out in bed. 

‘D’you want me to drive you down to Hogan Place tomorrow?’ he asks her. 

She shakes her head. She does, but the 2-7 is in the complete opposite direction, and besides… she needs to do this on her own. 

‘You sure, Lizzie?’

‘I’ve got to do this sometime,’ she says, climbing into bed. 

‘Yeah, when you’re ready,’ he says, rubbing his eyes and yawning. ‘You don’t have to try anything before you’re ready, Lizzie. No one’s gonna blame you for takin’ some time.’

‘No one but me,’ she replies.

‘Lizzie--’

‘Good night,’ she says abruptly, turning off her light. She can feel him watching her for a few long minutes before he sighs, turns off his light, and goes to sleep.

 

By the time they’re up and getting dressed in the morning her heart is in her throat. She doesn’t want to go to Hogan Place, and if she has to go she sure as hell doesn’t want to go alone. But she has to. She told him she would go by herself and she will, especially because they woke up later than they intended and they are running late. He gulps down a cup of coffee, ties his tie, and kisses her forehead before rushing out the door.

She has a little more time; her appointment with Stone and Robinette isn’t until 10:30. She dresses carefully, deliberately; she prepares herself for her appointment; she goes downstairs and has the doorman hail a cab.

In the cab she reads a book, or tries to, and doesn’t focus on the fact that everyone will be staring at her when she arrives. She directs the cab to a side street and enters Hogan Place through a little-known entrance, then makes her way up to the rabbit-warren corridors of the ninth floor.

She is doing fine. She is doing well, she reminds herself, taking the elevator up with a few people she knows only to nod to. She steps out on the ninth floor, says hello to Sheila Durbin, the secretary for Felonies, and ignores the pity in her eyes. She makes her way back to Ben’s office.

She’s a few minutes early, and Ben is apparently in the middle of a meeting. She raps on the door anyway, not wanting to wait in the hallway any longer.

Diana opens the door, beams at her, and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

‘How are you, Liz?’ Paul says, patting her on the arm and thankfully not hugging her. Ben stands up from his desk and comes around; he does hug her and she forces herself to raise her arms and return it and it’s awful, standing in this embrace, this unfamiliar body against hers and the unfamiliar scent that somehow is like his and she’s shaking, her eyes are darting around the room, looking for relief, and she catches Diana’s gaze. She is so, so grateful when she says, ‘Ben, I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll have some time this afternoon.’

Ben steps back and her heartrate slowly returns to normal.

‘Thanks for coming in, Liz,’ Ben says. ‘Can we get you something to drink?’

‘Water would be great,’ she says, wanting some space.

‘Of course,’ Ben says. ‘I’ll get you some; why don’t you sit down?’

She does, taking a seat on the sofa, while Paul pulls up a chair, keeping his distance.

‘How are you doing?’ he asks her when Ben leaves.

There’s understanding in his eyes, and not pity thank God, and she says, ‘We need to get him.’

‘We will,’ Paul says, and she’s relieved at his ringing certainty.

‘Good,’ she replies. ‘Good.’

 

Witness prep is somehow harder than she expected. Reliving the events that brought her here, over and over and over again… trying to stay perfectly neutral, and not show any emotion, or any distress… 

It’s so difficult to do.

She manages it, somehow.

It takes hours, and by the time they are done for today--‘You’re an excellent witness, Elizabeth,’ Ben tells her, as though it’s something to be proud of--it is three o’clock, Diana has reappeared, and she whisks her away.

‘I lost track of time, Liz, I was going to come in and break up the prep to give you a rest,’ she apologizes.

‘It’s fine, Diana, thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad I got it over with.’

‘I’m sure Ben didn’t think about lunch, and I haven’t had a chance to eat yet, either--want to go out?’

She shakes her head. ‘I just want to get home--but thank you.’

Diana nods. ‘Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

They’ve reached the elevators. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she says, and Diana nods, pecking her on the cheek before she steps into the elevator with a sigh of relief.

She can’t wait to get home.

 

But three hours later, at home, she is climbing up the walls. Every noise makes her jump. She doesn’t know what to do. She can’t sleep. She doesn’t want to eat. She just wants Mike to be home, but he’s left her a message saying he’s going to have to work late.

She doesn’t know what to do. She can’t bear to call Peter or Miranda or her parents. She can’t bother Mike. Her friends are at work and besides… she can’t bother them, can’t share this with them.

So she locks herself in the bathroom and tries to wait for him to come home.


	19. Chapter 19

It’s a shit day.

He’s exhausted and his soul is weary, and he has to deal with so much shit at work today. He’s worried as hell for her, for having to go through all of this again, not even a week after it happened, with Stone who has no idea what she’s going through… if Paul’s there, though, that would be better. He’d understand more than Stone, who seems to live in some sort of King Arthur time, where he’s a Knight of the Round Table, fighting against evil. He has no idea what evil is, and how it touches everyone sooner or later.

He chugs coffee, tries to make the paperwork go faster, and lets Phil drive when they go out on suspect interviews. He gets stuck waiting for a suspect’s attorney when an interrogation stalls; he leaves him in the interrogation room and goes to call Lizzie.

She doesn’t pick up the phone--she must be home by now. What is she doing?

‘It’s me, Lizzie,’ he says. ‘I’ll be another couple hours. Give me a call.’

He waits for ten minutes and then goes back into the interrogation room.

 

When he finally gets back to her apartment he is practically falling asleep. The door is locked with every lock, though she’s left the chain off the door, and when he steps into the foyer he notices that everything is dark. He feels a sense of dread and he quickly re-locks the door, then goes to find her.

She’s locked in the bathroom. He knocks gently on the door and eventually she opens it, looking as worn out as he feels.

‘You okay?’ he asks, stupidly, because he knows she’s not and she’s not gonna be for a long time. She looks at him blankly.

‘I’m tired,’ she says. ‘Can we go to sleep?’

He nods, and she emerges from the bathroom and crawls between the covers. He gets a tshirt from his dresser and uses the bathroom, then rejoins her in the bedroom.

To his shock, she’s built a sort of pillow barrier down the center of the bed.

‘I just… it’s been too much today,’ she murmurs, her face in the pillow. ‘Good night. I love you.’

He gets into bed and stares at the ceiling, listening to her steady breathing, suddenly wide awake.

 

She sleeps through the night tonight, thank God, and so does he, though it’s hard to drag himself awake when his alarm goes off. She’s already out of bed and out of the shower, and he finds her in the kitchen drinking coffee and picking at a bagel.

‘What are you going to do today?’ he asks.

‘I’m going to start seeing patients again next week,’ she tells him. ‘I need to get back to work.’

He leans against the counter and studies her closely. She avoids his gaze, and she’s definitely still not eating, and she’s tense and jumpy and distraught.

‘You don’t need to prove anything,’ he tells her. ‘You can take a beat.’

She shrugs, her movements jerky. ‘I can’t just--sit here all day. I need to do something.’

Well, he can understand that. Wanting to get her life back under her control… 

‘When’s your next appointment with Rebecca?’

‘Wednesday,’ she says, and he nods.

‘Good.’

She looks up at him for the first time. ‘When will you be home tonight?’

He rubs his hand over his face. ‘I dunno. Hopefully not too late.’ He looks at her, seeing the tension in her body and the way she tries to appear nonchalant. ‘I’ll call you, Lizzie, throughout the day. Okay?’

‘You don’t have to check up on me,’ she says, a flash of fire in her voice. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m an adult.’

‘Honey, that’s not--’

‘You’re going to be late,’ she says abruptly, standing and pushing back her chair with such force it topples over. She ignores it and walks out of the room.

He sighs. He remembers what she told him, that first session together, about the different stages of grief. It seems like she’s moved past denial.

The door to their bedroom is locked when he walks down the hallway to say goodbye. He goes back to the kitchen, scribbles a note, and slides it under the door for her.

It says:

_I love you, Lizzie. I love you. I’ll see you tonight._

He heads out, heart heavier than he thought it could be.


	20. Chapter 20

The days and nights start to blur into each other, during this week. She dutifully calls her mother every morning, listens to her chat, and makes some effort each day to leave the house. She goes to the grocery store, walks to the Park and around the Reservoir, goes to the Met. Each of these excursions go a little farther, push her a little more, force her to come to terms with what’s happened to her life.

Mike works late every night and comes home tense and drawn and exhausted.

She keeps the pillow barrier up between her bed and while she still suffers from nightmares, they don’t wake her up, screaming.

No, now they are more insidious. The sound of latex gloves snapping. The scent of her perfume filling her nose, gagging her. Steely eyes glinting in the dark.

She forces herself to go to Bergdorf’s, where she spend an hour and a half deciding on a new perfume. She buys a bottle of Chanel 19 and throws out the bottle of Eternity.

 

She talks to Rebecca. She tells her about her anger and the rage and her sudden desire to lock him up and throw away the key.

Rebecca tells her that’s all perfectly normal.

She says that she isn’t sleeping and Rebecca writes her a prescription for sleeping pills. She goes to the pharmacy, fills it, and hides the bottle from Mike.

 

The phone ringing jerks her out of her half-sleep; panicked, she freezes, heart beating a tattoo in her chest as she hears Mike lean over and pick up the phone.

‘Hello? Oh, Isobel,’ he says, and she can hear the sudden sadness in his voice. There’s a long pause in which she feels him shift his weight on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

‘No, she’s finally asleep, I don’t want to wake her. Look, I don’t know what to tell you,’ he says, his voice low as he tries to reassure her mother. ‘I’m worried about her--hell, I’m terrified. Not only because of…’ he trails off, swallowing back his next words. ‘Look, these reporters… it’s only been a week since the arrest and they’re following her everywhere, camping out outside the building… we have officers watching her, but it’s not enough. I can’t… I just can’t stop it.’

He’s silent, listening to her mother on the other end.

‘I can try to see if we can come up to Darien next weekend, but I can’t promise anything. She doesn’t want to leave the apartment.’ He pauses, then says, ‘I mean, yeah, she’s going to work on Monday, prepping for the trial, but… yeah, I know, Isobel. I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s horrible. No, I don’t know if you should come down again, you’ve gotta ask her. I don’t know that she’s up for seeing anyone. All right, well--look, I’ll give you a call tomorrow, let you know about the weekend, okay? Okay. Good night.’

He hangs up the phone, then slips back into bed next to her. Despite the pillow barrier she built, she can feel the bed sag beneath his weight. After a moment, she hears him prop himself up to look down at her.

‘Oh, God, Lizzie,’ he whispers to himself. ‘What can I do to help you?’

She keeps her eyes shut, forcing herself not to flinch when he reaches out and strokes her back, his hand warm and comforting on her skin.

‘I wish I could help you,’ he says at last, then removes his hand, slipping back down in bed again. As she hears his breathing even out, she opens her eyes, staring into the darkness.

 

On Saturday night, Chrissy goes into labor. The baby is born early on Sunday morning, and she and Mike cross the street to Lenox Hill to see them after breakfast.

It’s a mistake.

The second they step into the lobby her throat tightens with terror at the hospital smell, the doctor smell, but she forces herself to behave as though everything is fine. She buries her face in the bouquet of roses she carries.

They ride up to the ninth floor.

Chrissy looks radiant but exhausted. Teddy is exhausted, too, but both of them are shining with such joy her heart clenches in pain. She pastes on a smile and holds the baby, Jack, and pretends that she can actually feel something positive.

Her heart aches because she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’s lost this forever. She can’t imagine ever… 

She got her period this morning and the relief that comes with the bleeding is the most profound gratitude she’s felt in all her life.

He hadn’t used a condom. She’s grateful she doesn’t have that to deal with, too.

 

When they cross the street and go back to the apartment she locks herself in the bathroom yet again and soaks in the tub until her fingers prune and the water is cold.


	21. Chapter 21

Paul handles his witness prep, thank God.

‘How long have you and Liz been together?’ Paul asks.

‘Did she tell you?’ he asks, surprised. 

He shakes his head. ‘I went through the hospital admittance papers. She listed you as her emergency contact.’

He leans back in the chair, sighs, and rubs his hand over his eyes. ‘That’s not gonna be good, if Melnick gets her hands on it.’

‘No, it won’t,’ Paul replies. ‘So how long?’

‘A year.’ He looks up just in time to catch the shock on his face. ‘Didn’t expect that, huh?’

‘Honestly, no.’

He chuckles, humorless. ‘Yeah. Well, she’s… she’s everything to me,’ he admits. ‘So we’ve gotta get him, Paul.’

‘We will. I promise.’ Paul sighs. ‘So, let’s get down to it. How did you know Liz was in the hospital?’

‘She called me.’

Paul looks up from his notes. ‘She called you? Directly?’

‘Yeah. Paul, we just went over this, there was a reason.’

‘Yeah, I know… so, what are you gonna say when Melnick brings that up?’

‘That Liz and I have a personal relationship.’ He shrugs. ‘That covers all number of sins, yeah?’

‘Good answer,’ Paul agrees, and notes it down.

 

She's locked within herself again. That flash of anger--a flash was all it was, and it burned out, and she's frozen again. He has no idea what she does all day. She drifts around the apartment like she's a ghost. She starts wearing a new perfume. She doesn't eat. 

 

Chrissy and Teddy have their baby and when they go visit he knows the tears on her cheeks aren't tears of joy. 

 

Monday comes and he drives her to her office. She's dressed in armor, in many layers--pants, blouse, sweater, blazer--and he kisses her goodbye at her office door. 

When he comes home, he's relieved that she hasn't locked herself in the bathroom. She even eats more than she's eaten since it happened. She tells him her day was fine when he asks. 

 

She doesn't have any appointments on Tuesday and it's worse than ever when he comes home. She's locked in the bathroom again and only emerges when he goes to sleep. She wakes up screaming for the first time in a week, as though all the progress she's made and all the control she's managed to regain has been used up. 

Wednesday is better again, but on Thursday morning he calls Katy, desperate, and begs her to go keep Liz company. She agrees without question and that's when he realizes how much he's hurting, too. 

When he comes home Lizzie says, in a flat, affectless voice, that Katy is three months pregnant. He doesn’t know what to say. Neither does she.

She finally says, ‘I’d rather just be alone from now on.’

He nods.

She goes back to the bedroom, takes a sleeping pill, and crashes. She leaves the bottle out on the sink and he cries when he finds it. He had no idea. She’s been keeping secrets.

It breaks his heart.


	22. Chapter 22

On Friday night she can’t get in touch with him and sits, locked in the apartment, panicked. He finally calls five hours after she paged him, at three a.m.

‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie,’ he says. ‘Did you watch the news? A restaurant got shot up. Looks like it’s Colombian assassins.’

She closes her eyes against the relief she feels that he hasn’t just… just what? Forgotten her? Abandoned her? Stopped loving her?

‘I’ll be home in an hour,’ he promises.

He’s as good as his word. For the first time since it happens, she throws her arms around him and kisses him on the lips. He holds her back from him.

‘I’m covered in blood, Lizzie,’ he tells her, and she looks down at the crimson stains on his shirt, now on hers, too. He heads down the hall to the bathroom.

The next morning she finds his shirt in the trash. She soaks hers in cold water to get out the stains.

 

From that point on it’s a lucky day if he gets home before midnight. He leaves the apartment by seven every morning and he is exhausted. She is exhausted. She can’t go to sleep without him home.

 

He’s hurting, she knows he is, but she doesn’t know what she can do to help. She feels as though she’s bleeding out and he has a wound, too, but one that’s able to be staunched.

 

He tells her, late Monday night, that he and Phil are meeting a gun dealer tomorrow, to try to get some information from him about this Colombian assassin. Unless they are working together on a case, he doesn’t share information with her. She feels her heart tighten with an unnamed fear as he kisses her and tells her he loves her so much.

 

He doesn’t get shot, thank God. But Phil does. He’s taken to Mount Sinai and when she arrives at last to take Mike home he is wild with grief he could not express for her. It’s her turn to hold him as he sobs.


	23. Chapter 23

_Not again_ , he thinks as he hears the gunshots. _Not again._

He has his gun against the bastard’s skull in an instant and Donny pulls him off. He goes to Phil, who says how he’s lived a charmed life, never even fired his piece, and he passes out in his arms.

He’s frantic at the hospital. Phil may never walk again. He doesn’t know what to do and Robinette is talking about dealing it down… fuck that shit.

Liz shows up, takes him home, and holds him as he sobs for hours.

 

_Not Phil. Not Phil too._

 

He’s never needed her so much, not ever, not even after Max, but she can’t help him the way he needs.

Not now.


	24. Chapter 24

On Friday morning, as he dresses for work, she brings him coffee and he loses it. 

‘Can't you just smile for once?’ he snaps, snatching the cup out of her hand and slopping the coffee all over the rug. ‘For fuck’s sake, it's been weeks, you need to get a grip. Do you know how goddamn depressing it is to come home to you every day? You're not the only person in the world goin’ through something, Liz, and I'm so tired of you losin’ it every day--’

She starts crying so hard that she can’t hear the rest of his sentence, if there is one. He brushes past her and bangs out of the apartment. She crumples and sobs so hard that she can't breathe, that she gasps for breath and finally ends up hiccuping with her knees brought up to her chest, curled up on the floor. 

After this, she's not sure if he’ll come home. She goes through her day in a stupor, not leaving the apartment, and waits for him in the living room. She can't sleep without him here. She watches the hours tick by in the light of a single lamp.

He finally comes back at 3am. 

‘I thought you'd left,’ she mumbles against his chest, embracing him, holding him tight.

He shakes his head. ‘I'm so sorry, Lizzie,’ he tells her, voice cracking with emotion and exhaustion. ‘Oh, God, I'm so sorry for everything.’

He starts to cry and she does, too, and they hold each other tight, tight. She never wants him to let go. 

 

He gets a new partner, Lennie Briscoe, and comes home every night sullen and angry though he doesn’t yell again, only holds her close.

 

On Tuesday she is called in to the DA’s office to do a profile.

‘She says he was about to rape her when she shot him,’ Ben says, then stops short, a look of horror in his eyes. ‘Elizabeth, I’m sorry, I didn’t think--’

She shakes her head although her heart sinks. ‘It’s fine. It’s my job, Ben.’

But faced with Mary Kostrinski she can’t help but think, _if I’d had a gun… if I had been able to move…_

She hates asking, ‘Is it possible you might have done something that encouraged him?’

Mary Kostrinski looks at her as though she’s crazy. Worse, as though she’s betraying her. ‘You think that just because I let him kiss me that he had a right to--’

‘No,’ she interrupts. ‘I don't think that.’ God, of course she doesn’t think that… 

After the interview ends, she makes her way to Ben’s office.

She says, ‘There may have been some assault or molestation in her past, but there was nothing in what she said to indicate an underlying pathology.’

And her expressed hostility toward men, that doesn't border on the abnormal?’ Ben asks, sounding incredulous.

‘It's appropriate to her experience,’ she replies, fighting to maintain her cool.

 

‘And so was shooting Tommy Duff? Elizabeth, by her own admission, he never touched her. He was unarmed.’

‘He weighed 240 pounds. She weighs 118. His size was his weapon.’

Ben says, disbelieving, ‘Because she had a hunch, a feeling, she shot him, not for what he did, but what he might do?’

She loses the battle to remain objective, calm, impersonal, and snaps at him, ‘How long would you have her wait before she defended herself? Till he grabbed her? Till he forced her into an alley and penetrated her?’

‘Until there was something beyond her word to support a claim to self-defense!’ he exclaims.

She can’t help but feel… contempt, distaste, disgust at his reaction. This is the man who will be prosecuting her rapist? Does he disbelieve her, too? She says, ‘Believe me, Ben, what she did resonates with more women than your comfort zone wants to accept.’ At his look of shock, she tempers her tone, and says, ‘I'll give you a written report of the session, but I don't think you want me as a witness.’

Neither he nor Paul have anything to say to her, and she leaves, her hands shaking with fury and anger and disbelief.

Her trial is in two weeks and she has no idea how she can trust them, now.

These _men_. They have no idea. They have _no idea_.


	25. Chapter 25

He feels like he’s fallen off a cliff and is dangling, his only support a tree branch that’s breaking.

He doesn’t know how he can go on.

Everything sets him off, especially at work, with his new--temporary--partner. On Friday morning, after a week investigating a murder where the suspect claims the victim was going to rape her, he’s getting dressed, tugging his tie straight with jerky movements, when she comes into the bedroom carrying a cup of coffee for him. She looks exhausted and sad and he just--can’t--take--it.

‘Can't you just smile for once?’ he snaps, grabbing the cup from her and taking a weird pleasure in letting the coffee spill on the rug. ‘For fuck’s sake, it's been weeks, you need to get a grip. Do you know how goddamn depressing it is to come home to you every day? You're not the only person in the world goin’ through something, Liz, and I'm so tired of you losin’ it every day and every night and just not keepin’ it together--’

Halfway through his sentence she bursts into tears, and he’s never seen her like this before, never. She’s sobbing as though her heart is breaking, as though all the tears she’s wanted to cry have been saved up just to be released now. He cuts himself off, grabs his coat, and bangs his way out of the apartment without apologizing.

He’s testifying today in court, one of Donnelly’s cases, and he takes the subway because if he drives he knows he’s gonna drive someone off the road. Better to deal with the mass of humanity, where a few shoves will ease his temper and are expected anyway on rush hour trains.

He gets to Centre Street on time and then proceeds to cool his heels all fucking day, grabbing a hot dog during the trial’s quick lunch recess and then finally, finally being called at 4:30. He hasn’t made any effort to call Liz during the day, even though he’s been sitting across from the bank of pay phones and she’s at home.

Somehow he manages to keep his temper under control when he testifies, the blonde ADA who did his witness prep in charge of the cross examination. He’d given her a second glance when they’d first met--even though he was with Liz he wasn’t dead--and she was pretty damn attractive. She’s a good lawyer, too, leading him through the questions without breaking a sweat or making him look dumb.

After he’s dismissed, it’s past five, so he goes to find a bar. There’s one he’s gone to a couple times across the street from the courthouse; he finds a barstool and orders a beer. He needs a break, needs to calm down before he goes home, and needs to figure out a way to apologize.

His peace is broken halfway through his beer when the ADA slides onto the stool next to him.

‘You did a good job today,’ she says, smiling. It’s a nice smile, he notes abstractedly as he looks over at her. He doesn’t want to talk, he just needs a break…

‘Thanks, Counselor,’ he says gruffly, taking another sip of beer.

She orders one for herself. ‘Call me Sherri.’

‘Thanks, Sherri,’ he says, and takes another swig of beer.

She prompts him into further conversation and he relaxes for the first time in a month, forgetting Liz, forgetting Phil. It’s easy to talk to her, to listen to her, to just… being, without having to watch every word and every movement and… 

They stumble out of the bar into the chilly October night. He’s had four beers on a nearly empty stomach, and his tolerance has gone down after this month, too, because he doesn’t want to be drinking in front of Liz, and so when she says, ‘My place is just around the corner,’ he doesn’t stop to think, just bends and presses his lips to hers.

 

He realizes what he’s done after it’s too late, when she’s sleeping at his side and he’s still tangled in her sheets, sweat cooling on his skin.

_Oh, fuck._

He dresses quickly, quietly, making sure he gets everything that belongs to him, then heads out the door without waking her up.

It’s 11 pm.

 

He takes a shower at his apartment and tosses his clothes from the day into his dry cleaning bag, then dresses in jeans and a tshirt and heads over to the hospital to check on Phil.

He sits by his partner’s side for a long time, trying to figure out what to do.

He can’t tell Liz--God, no. She can’t deal with this now, and besides--it was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.

But he’s got to apologize to her anyway, especially for this morning. Christ. She needs him and he just… he rubs a hand over his eyes.

 

It’s 3 am by the time he gets back to the apartment. She’s sitting up waiting for him anyway, and the second he closes the door behind him she’s there, she’s hugging him and pressing her tearstained face against his chest, and saying that she thought he’d left.

‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie,’ he tells her. ‘I’m so sorry for everything.’

To his shame, he bursts into tears, and she does too, and they stand, holding each other for a long, long time.

 

She tells him why she did it early that morning, when they’ve finally gone into their bedroom and climbed into bed.

‘Do you remember in August, that phone call--my patient, who tried to kill herself?’ she asks softly.

He nods. ‘Yeah.’

‘I referred her to him. She needed a new gynecologist and my doctor… she said she wouldn’t see her, and I remembered reading about… him… and his awards and accolades and I thought…’ she breaks off and swallows. ‘She told me he touched her. That he’d… that he’d done something to her. And I wasn’t sure if it was true, because she’d been delusional, but she tried to kill herself… I had to find out.’

His heart is breaking all over again. He asks her, gently, ‘why didn’t you just tell me?’

She lifts her shoulders in a shrug and looks out the window. The sky is lightening. She says, ‘I wasn’t sure if it had really happened. And when he molested me--well, nothing happened, even though I came forward, so… I had to stop him. It’s my fault.’

‘It’s not, Lizzie,’ he tells her. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I think it is,’ she admits, her voice so soft he barely hears her. ‘I know it is.’

He wraps his arms around her and she leans back against him, closing her eyes.

‘It’s not,’ he tells her again, holding her tight. ‘It’s not your fault.’

He can feel the tears when she starts to cry, and he holds her, and they sit like that until the sun rises and it’s time to go to work.


	26. Chapter 26

Two weekends before the trial he takes her to Peter and Miranda’s place in Southampton. The town is dead, even though the weather is perfect, crisp October days that fade into chilly, clear nights. He builds up a fire every night and for the first time she looks a little bit more like herself, curled up in an armchair with a glass of wine, even smiling once or twice. She even starts eating with an appetite again, and not because he's standing over her watching every bite.

They kiss, too, and while they don't do much of anything else she’s stopped flinching away every time he strokes her cheek or gives her a hug. 

But it can't last. They drive back and the closer they get to the city the tenser she gets until all the progress they've made has been obliterated. She wakes up screaming again from a nightmare. 

 

On the Wednesday before the trial the _Ledger_ \--not his friend--runs an article about Liz. Melnick obviously put them up to it, because she’s quoted, and while it’s not front page it’s on the third page.

There’s a big picture of the two of them near her apartment, and his hand is on her lower back, and there’s endless speculation about their relationship.

He throws the paper down the garbage chute before she can see it, but when he gets home she’s bought another copy and is reading it on the sofa.

‘We should have been more careful,’ she tells him sadly.

He takes the paper away from her and throws it away again, then comes back and holds her tight.

 

Her parents come down from Connecticut the Friday before the trial. Her week has been spent with patients and last-minute witness prep and at Lanie Stiglitz’s office, because she’ll be called as a witness for the defense in the Kostrinski trial. She tells him, very calmly, that the DA’s office accidentally included her report in discovery. She tells him that she’s not sure how careful they’ve been with her case, if they’re making mistakes like this in a murder trial.

He agrees with her, and he’s afraid of it, but by this point there's nothing he can do. 

 

Miranda and Peter have them over for dinner the Saturday before the trial. By this point Lizzie is… not back to herself, but functioning, and able to interact with the people she loves without running and hiding. The problem is that it takes so much energy from her. Every day, now, he finds her asleep when he gets home. She'll wake up, they'll spend some time together, then she'll sleep again, an almost-drugged sleep, though she's stopped taking the sleeping pills. 

On Sunday night she admits, ‘I'm not ready for this.’

‘I know.’ Neither is he. Stone better not blow it, he thinks.

 

Monday comes. She's testifying today, but he's testifying first, and she can't hear what he says, so she'll have to wait in the hall while he testifies. Isobel and Nick are coming, and Miranda--Peter will hold down the fort at the bank. 

Liz dresses carefully in a black blouse and her royal blue skirt suit. She'd asked Diana to come in Saturday to help her decide on the clothes she should wear for the week. She knows she needs to make a good impression. 

So does he. He wears a navy suit she bought him, a new white shirt with cufflinks, and his navy tie. 

Nick wears a pinstripe suit and forest green tie. Isobel wears a grey wool dress with a silk scarf tied around her shoulders. 

They use Nick’s car. They keep the divider up between them and the driver and they don’t talk.

They drop him off a couple blocks from the courthouse and he walks down Centre Street slowly. He’s the first witness, so at least he gets to see all of her trial, and he prays--he prays that Stone puts on a good case, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the bastard walks free.

 

He’s testified hundreds of times, has testified for murders and domestic violence cases and even rapes, but this one is different. He’s sworn in, sits down in the witness box, and takes a deep breath.

Stone goes first.

‘Detective Logan,’ he begins. ‘Please tell the court what happened on September 23rd.’

‘Dr. Olivet called me and told me that she had been assaulted and was at Lenox Hill. My partner and I drove down to take her statement and the doctor told us she had been raped, that there were hematomas on her calves and thighs. My partner,’ he forces himself not to choke on the words, ‘and I took Dr. Olivet’s statement. She gave us a tape recorder with which she’d recorded the examination. We went to the District Attorney’s office and met with you and Mr. Robinette. We then arrested Dr. Merritt.’

‘Was this the first time Dr. Olivet called you about Dr. Merritt?’

‘Objection, facts not in evidence!’ Melnick exclaims. He’d always thought that if he did something wrong, he’d hire Melnick--if he could afford her. She always believed in her client’s innocence and definitely took “zealous representation” to new heights. But now, he wants to spit on her. For fuck’s sake, she claimed to be a feminist, and Lizzie was _raped_ , and she’s defending the rapist?

‘Goes to predisposition, your Honor, in establishing a pattern of behavior--’ Stone begins.

‘Sustained,’ the judge says. ‘Don’t answer, Detective.’

Stone tries again. ‘Had you had an opportunity to investigate Dr. Merritt previously?’

‘Objection!’

‘Sustained.’

‘What did you know about Dr. Merritt prior to arresting him?’ Stone asks, and Melnick objects the third time.

‘Overruled,’ the judge says. Thank God. ‘Witness may answer the question.’

‘There had been a police investigation into the death of his second wife at the time of her death,’ he says, speaking calmly but more quickly now, wanting to get it all out. ‘She’d killed herself on his desk wearin’ a leather hood. The investigation showed that while Dr. Merritt was into that sort of thing, he was out of town. The death was ruled a suicide.’

‘Objection! The defendant’s sexual history is not in evidence.’

‘Sustained.’

 _At least he doesn’t instruct the jury to disregard_ , he thinks, and waits for Stone’s next question.

‘Anything else?’ Stone asks.

‘We’d investigated him in the course of an investigation into his previous molestation of Dr. Olivet,’ he says. 

Melnick is vibrating with fury when she yells, ‘Objection! Facts not in evidence!’

‘Don’t try to get through the back door what won’t fit in the front,’ the judge says. ‘Overruled. The jury will disregard.’

‘No further questions,’ Stone says, and he want to scream at him, _Are you fucking kidding me?_ He tries not to look at Liz’s parents, sitting immediately behind Stone, but he can’t help it. They’re stone-faced, not giving anything away, and hell--he admires them for it.

Melnick gets up, smiling like the shark she is. ‘Detective Logan. Why do you think Dr. Olivet called you instead of 911 or the 19th Precinct, considering where she was?’

‘Somethin’ like this happens to you,’ he says, echoing what he told Donny, ‘you go where you have credit.’

‘Ah, yes,’ she says, beginning to pace. ‘Dr. Olivet works for the police department.’

Well, there’s no getting around that, but he says, ‘She wasn’t workin’ for us then--only when we ask for her help.’

‘And you didn’t ask for her help then?’

‘No,’ he tells her, thinking, stay calm, placid.

‘How long have you been on the Force, Detective?’ she asks, changing tack suddenly.

‘Fifteen years,’ he responds.

‘And in your experience, do most sexual offenders have only one victim?’

 _Shit._ He knows where she’s going with this. ‘No.’

‘When you were investigating Dr. Merritt, did you find evidence that he had allegedly assaulted anyone else?’

‘No,’ he replies tightly. ‘But he had molested Dr. Olivet--’

‘Objection!’

‘Sustained,’ the judge says again, and fuck, he hates that word, he hates Melnick, he hates that bastard, sitting there smug… 

‘Thank you, Detective,’ Melnick says, and smiles. ‘That’s all.’

‘You’re excused,’ the judge says, and he gets out of the witness stand jerkily. ‘Next witness.’

He finds a seat in the back on Liz’s side of the aisle. He’s vibrating with tension and fury and--fuck, Stone is messing this up already, he knows… 

He watches as the doctor from the hospital is sworn in.

‘Dr. Helman,’ Stone says. ‘You are the doctor at Lenox Hill who treated Dr. Olivet, correct?’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘Could you please describe what happened?’

‘Dr. Olivet walked in and told the nurse she had been raped. She was brought to a room and I came to examine her in the presence of a nurse.’

‘And what did your examination show?’

‘There were semen samples. Her vaginal area was bruised. And there were haematomas on her calves and thighs.’

He can see Isobel’s shoulders tighten, and Nick rest his hand on her back. He wishes he had someone’s hand to hold; fuck, listening to this again…

Stone picks up a stack of photographs. He knows what they look like--he’d had to see them in person, after all.

‘Would you identify these photographs?’

‘Yeah. They are the photos that our rape expert took of Dr. Olivet shortly after she arrived at the hospital.’

He runs a hand over his eyes, trying to block out the memories of the bruises that had stayed for weeks. They only disappeared completely last week.

‘Offered as evidence, Your Honor,’ Stone says, handing a copy to the judge. 

 

‘Call them People's 10, 11, and 12,’ the judge says, and Stone hands another set to the jury. He watches their faces--the revulsion, the pity--and how the women and a couple of the men glare at the bastard.

‘Dr. Helman, in your opinion, what happened to Dr. Olivet?’

‘I've been doing this for six years. In my opinion, that woman was raped.’

‘Thank you.’

 _Thank Christ_ , he thinks as Stone sits down. He was a good witness. The jury is still staring in shock at the photos.

But now it’s Melnick’s turn. She stands. ‘In your six years of experience, Doctor, have you ever seen a patient with vaginal bruising who was not raped?’

‘Yes,’ Dr. Helman admits.

‘And did your rape experts scrape underneath the fingernails of the alleged victim?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘And did they find samples of the defendant's skin?’ Melnick asks, and his fists tighten. _She was drugged! She couldn’t move!_

‘No.’

‘Well, doesn't that typically indicate that the alleged victim did not resist? It might In other words, she might have consented,’ Melnick asks, turning to the jury, pandering to them.

‘Objection,’ Stone says, almost lazily, and he clenches his fists again to keep from strangling him, her, the bastard… everyone.

‘Withdrawn,’ Melnick says with a smile.

The judge says, ‘We’ll take a fifteen minute recess.’

He stands as soon as the judge does, eager for him to get the fuck out of the courtroom so he can go find Lizzie. Since he’s at the back, he’s able to slip out first, and he searches for her before he finally finds her sitting on a bench around the corner, Diana next to her. They both look up at the same time.

‘Fifteen minute recess,’ he says tightly, and Lizzie nods. ‘I think they’re gonna call you next.’

‘You can’t be here, Mike,’ Diana says, standing up. ‘You can’t be seen talking to her until after she’s under oath.’

She’s right, he knows she is, but he can’t--he can’t just leave her. ‘Diana--’

‘Mike, I’m an officer of the court, I can’t--’ she tells him.

He sighs explosively. ‘I know, I know. Okay. I’ll see you after, okay?’ he tells Lizzie, who nods, her face pale.

‘Okay,’ she replies.

He nods tightly and turns to go just as Isobel and Nick round the corner. He nods again and walks past them. He goes to find the payphones, to call in and see if there’s anything, but he just… can’t.

He heads back into the courtroom and takes a seat in the second row, just behind where Isobel and Nick were.

He waits and the ten minutes remaining in the recess seem endless.

Finally, finally, the waiting is over. Isobel and Nick file in, sit in front of them, only a nod as they pass him to acknowledge that they know each other. They all know that they’re not supposed to be acquainted.

Lizzie is sworn in and she is strong, calm--and by God, he’s proud to know her and to be hers. She takes a seat.

‘We are now going to play People’s Exhibit 1,’ Stone says, producing the tape recorder.

Stone presses play, and Lizzie looks down.

‘Now we'll give it a couple of seconds,’ Merritt says, and they all wait. Isobel is tensing in front of him, Nick has his arm around her shoulders, and the bastard--he’s sitting there, as calm and cool as can be. Finally, although it’s only five seconds, she gasps and chokes out, ‘I--I can't move.’

They hear his pants unzip, footsteps, then--‘Oh. Oh, yes. Ah, this is what you wanted. Yeah. You begged for it, bitch.’

Isobel’s shoulders are hunched; Nick’s grip is white-knuckled, and Lizzie frowns, slightly, involuntarily, as though she can’t bear to let this pass without acknowledging the sorrow and the pain and anger--she keeps her gaze fixed on the wooden rail of the witness box.

‘Would you describe what we just heard on the tape?’ Stone asks. 

‘I was on the table in the examination room,’ Lizzie begins, and her voice is strong and calm and sure. ‘Dr. Merritt's nurse, Miss Gregg, prepared a syringe and then left the room. He gave me an injection.’

‘Were you aware that drugs were going to be part of this examination?’ Stone asks.

‘He told me it was a local. I've had minor surgery before and that wasn’t a local. It was some kind of sedative.’

‘Objection, Your Honor,’ Melnick says.

‘Sustained,’ replies the judge. 

‘How did it make you feel?’ Stone asks.

Lizzie says, ‘I couldn't move.’

‘Were you conscious?’

‘I saw everything he did.’

‘And what did he do?’ 

‘His eyes glazed over. I heard him unzip his pants. I tried to scream, to push him away. I couldn't. He was on top of me, then inside me.’

Isobel shudders and Nick tenses and he fights the urge to stand up and punch the bastard.

Stone says, ‘No further questions.’

She meets his eyes briefly and he gives her a supportive smile. One part is over, he wants to tell her. You’re almost there.

‘Miss Olivet,’ Melnick says, rising from her chair with a smile. ‘Would you tell the court, please, exactly what you did after you left Dr. Merritt's office?’

‘I called the police and went to the hospital,’ Lizzie replies.

‘You dialed 911?’ He hates the fake surprise and interest in the lawyer’s voice. She knows damn well--and so does the jury--that she called him.

‘No. I called Detective Michael Logan.’ She deliberately does not look at him.

‘But you were on 76th. Wouldn’t it have been easier to call the 19th Precinct?’ Melnick asks, voice sickly sweet.

‘I have a personal relationship with Detective Logan,’ Lizzie says, keeping her gaze fixed on the defense attorney.

‘You have more than that, don't you, Miss Olivet?’ he watches her gaze flicker as Melnick asks that, his heart clenching, ‘You work with him.’ He forces himself not to sag in relief.

‘I've advised on--’ Lizzie begins.

‘Oh, come on, come on,’ Melnick says with a little laugh. ‘Every other Friday your paycheck says New York City Police Department. Is that not true?’

‘Yes,’ Lizzie replies. Well, they knew the path her questioning was gonna take, he reassures himself. He made it clear she wasn't working for them. 

‘Would you tell us, please, who is Dr. Barbara Lawrence?’ Lizzie freezes and so does he. Fuck. Fuck!! How did she know? He watches her glance to Stone, who has tensed and looks at Paul, then the jury. Melnick says, ‘Miss Olivet?’

‘She's my doctor,’ Liz replies. 

‘What kind of doctor?’

Fuck. 

‘She's a gynecologist.’

‘I see, Melnick says, ‘And she's been treating you for the last 12 years?’

‘Yes.’

‘And when was the last time she examined you, please?’

She's _enjoying_ this, he realizes, watching the defense attorney with contempt. 

‘Last September.’

‘Yet you saw Dr. Merritt once in August and two times in September. Do you see two dentists, too, Miss Olivet?’

Finally Stone does something. ‘Objection.’

‘Sustained,’ the judge says, looking at Liz with something he doesn't want to name. He doesn't believe her, he realizes with a sudden jolt of fear.

‘How about Diane Perkins? You recognize that name?’ His head snaps up and so does hers. Oh, shit. He didn’t realize that _she_ was Lizzie’s patient--

‘Relevance!’ Stone exclaims, clearly losing control of the trial. 

‘Your Honor, Diane Perkins is a patient of both Dr. Olivet and Dr. Merritt’s,’ Melnick says, playing her trump card. There’s more than a note of triumph in her voice.

‘The jury will disregard Ms. Melnick's statement and I'll see counsel in chambers,’ the judge says, angry, slamming his gavel down. The lawyers, the judge, and the stenographer all disappear, and Lizzie is forced to sit in the witness box, staring down at her hands. The bastard stares at her, a small, cold smile playing about his lips.

Nick and Isobel are talking in low voices, ostensibly to themselves, though Isobel angles her body so that he can hear what she’s saying.

‘Did you know about this, Mike?’ she asks, appearing to talk to Nick. ‘I knew she must have been seeing him for a reason…’

He leans forward, pretending to tie his shoe. ‘Yeah. She told me a couple weeks ago. Doesn’t change anything, Isobel.’

‘It makes it worse,’ Nick says softly. ‘Because now we know she’s been blaming herself. And she’ll continue to do that because that’s who she is… because she will always believe that it was her fault.’

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He straightens up and runs a hand over his face and waits, tuning out Nick and Isobel as he watches Lizzie sit, still and silent, on the stand.

It’s another ten minutes before the trial begins again. Stone is clearly angry with Lizzie--he looks at her as though she’s betrayed him--and Paul catches his gaze and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. He doesn’t know how to answer that, but that’s an answer itself, and Paul nods briefly.

Melnick doesn’t have anything more to ask, and the judge declares a recess until tomorrow. When he bangs the gavel, the judge stands to leave, and Lizzie steps down from the witness box.

Looking at her, he knows she’s on the verge of a breakdown, so he pushes his way past the crowds and the bailiffs and meets her just as she steps past the jury. She’s not looking at him--she’s looking at Stone, and he turns around in time to see him frown and mouth, “outside, now,” to her. She nods, looks away from Stone, and looks up at him.

‘He wants to talk to me,’ she says, voice holding a tremble. ‘Outside. Can you tell my parents--tell them I’ll meet them at home?’

‘Lizzie--’ he says, and she shakes her head and moves away from him, using the crowd of people to put distance between them.

He looks over and Stone and Paul have vanished too. There are tons of people between him and the door, so he gives up and makes his way over to Nick and Isobel.

‘Where did she go?’ Isobel asks, her calm mask slipping for the first time.

‘Stone wants to talk to her. She said she’d meet us at home.’

‘I don’t want her going home alone,’ Nick says.

‘I don’t either, but… I don’t know how we’re gonna stop her, if we don’t get there before she leaves.’

‘Then let’s go,’ Isobel says tightly, and starts to push her way to the door.

He and Nick follow.

 

She’s gone by the time they get outside, and they look at each other with dismay.

‘What are we going to do?’ Isobel asks, looking back and forth between them.

‘I don’t know,’ Nick admits. ‘Wait for her at home, I suppose.’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees glumly. ‘Let’s go. Maybe we can beat her home.’


	27. Chapter 27

This waiting is endless. She sits on the uncomfortable bench around the corner from the courtroom, outside the range of curious eyes, and waits.

This is the beginning. She has no idea how much evidence Stone will present, or what he’ll present besides the photographs and the tape and the hospital report, or even who he’ll call as a witness besides Mike and herself. Probably the doctor from the hospital, but who else, if anyone?

She’s been waiting for an hour when Diana appears, her arms full of files, and takes a seat next to her.

‘Thought I’d keep you company,’ she tells her. ‘We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.’

‘Thank you,’ she manages, then leans back against the wall again and closes her eyes. She can hear Diana open a file and then the comforting scratch of pen against paper.

It’s almost over, she reminds herself. The trial won’t take long and then it will be over, one way or the other.

Finally she hears footsteps and looks up just as Mike turns the corner.

‘Fifteen minute recess,’ he says tightly, and she nods. ‘I think they’re gonna call you next.’

‘You can’t be here, Mike,’ Diana tells him, standing up. ‘You can’t be seen talking to her until after she’s under oath.’

‘Diana--’ Mike protests.

‘Mike, I’m an officer of the court, I can’t--’ she says, and she wants to tell her to ignore her obligations for once because she needs him… but she knows that she can’t, because of course she knows what an obligation is, what it means.

He sighs loudly. ‘I know, I know. Okay. I’ll see you after, okay?’ he tells her, and she forces herself to nod.

‘Okay,’ she replies.

He nods too and then her parents turn the corner and they exchange a glance quickly before he’s gone again.

‘How did it go?’ she asks as her mother sits down next to her. Diana is clearing the bench of her files and her father helps her.

‘The doctor from Lenox Hill testified after Michael,’ she says. ‘I think the jury is on your side.’

‘God, I hope so,’ she says, and closes her eyes.

‘Are you ready?’ her mother asks.

‘I don’t know,’ she admits.

 

She’s so focused on trying to speak clearly and calmly that Melnick’s questions knock her silent.

 _How the hell did she know about Barbara?_ she thinks, heart starting to race. _And if she knows about Barbara…_

‘How about Diane Perkins? You recognize that name?’ Melnick asks, and her head snaps up.

_Oh, no._

Melnick proceeds to loudly announce that Diane is both her patient and the bastard’s, and the judge calls them into chambers. She remains on the witness stand, staring at her hands, trying to still the quick beating of her heart.

She thought she’d need to worry about asking about her relationship with Mike. She should have known Melnick would have found out about everything else.

She forces herself to keep her gaze fixed on her lap and not look at her parents or Mike or the jury or the bastard. She watches the second hand tick around her watch, and it is precisely eleven minutes and forty-two seconds before the judge returns.

Melnick says that she has nothing further, the implication being she’s already dug up enough dirt to bury her. She exits the witness box with relief, her hands starting to shake, and catches Ben’s eye.

“Outside. Now,’ he mouths, and she nods, then realizes Mike is standing there for her.

‘He wants to talk to me,’ she tells him, and she hears her voice shake. ‘Outside. Can you tell my parents--tell them I’ll meet them at home?’

‘Lizzie--’ he starts, but she shakes her head and slips between the crowd of people. She just--she can’t, right now, now here, not in front of everyone… 

She manages to get through the crowd and to the side door, ignoring the bailiff trying to stop her, and makes her way to the steps on Centre Street to wait for Stone. It takes him several minutes to join her; by the time he does, she’s pacing.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Stone snaps, coming over to her.

‘I was raped. That's all you needed to know,’ she tells him.

‘It would've helped to know the alleged victim was lying.’

‘I never lied to you!’ she exclaims. She didn’t. She never lied.

‘The only reason you went to Merritt is for Diane Perkins,’ he says. 

‘That has nothing to do with me being drugged and raped!’

‘It had a lot to do with why you were raped,’ he counters.

She gives him what he wants--an explanation. ‘You want to know why I went back? I sent Diane to Merritt. My gynecologist wouldn't see her, and I bought into his reputation. The awards, the articles. I was responsible.’ She is, she knows she is, so she had to stop him… 

‘But you did it the wrong way,’ he tells her. ‘If you suspected she was molested, you should have gone to the police.’

‘With what?’ she asks, desperate. ‘She refused to come forward. I didn't know whether to believe her. She's been delusional and she certainly couldn't have testified against the esteemed doctor. She tried to kill herself, Ben,’ she says, and that’s her greatest failure, that it came to this.

‘You of all people should know the importance of full disclosure. You had a legal obligation--’

She can’t listen to him any more. ‘I had an obligation to my patient. And in my profession, that's all that counts.’

He stares at her, silent, and she just--she has to get out of here. She makes her way down the stairs and away from the street, heading for the subway.

She can hear him call after her but she ignores it. She has to get out.

 

An hour later she finds herself in one of the sitting rooms at the Colony Club, a pot of tea and plate of tea sandwiches in front of her. Leaning back against the chintz sofa, she takes a deep breath and sighs in relief. Being here makes everything better. She doesn’t know why she hasn’t sought refuge here before, in this very feminine, women-only environment. Men aren’t allowed here at all, except the doormen and waiters, and she sighs in relief as she sags back against the sofa.

Not for the first time, she’s glad that her mother insisted she become a member herself when she turned eighteen. She loves it here, though she hasn’t been here in ages… not since the summer, she realizes, for lunch with Audrey, Jane, and Sally. She should have come here before, after this.

She shakes her head and picks up her delicate teacup, taking a sip of the Earl Grey. This is better, she thinks, beginning to relax for the first time all week. Being here, it’s easy to forget what’s happened. She looks about the room. It’s looked exactly like this her whole life, and she’s sure much longer than that, too. The chintz sofas and comfortable, elegant furniture put her at ease and soothe her. The clink of china and low murmurs of the other women in other, similar rooms could lull her to sleep. She’s safe here.

She takes another sip of tea, leans back against the sofa, picks up an issue of _Town & Country_, and starts to read, forgetting everything else.

 

She has dinner in the small dining room, not the main one, choosing a book at random from the shelves in the library and reading it while she eats. This isn’t uncommon; here, women often sit alone, to read or enjoy their own company, or just to take a break. No one pays attention to her.

It’s a relief.

The book isn’t something she would have picked, if she was paying attention, but it keeps her interest anyway. It’s called _King's Oak_ , by Anne Rivers Siddons, and she loses herself in the story of people who are like her, but unlike enough to keep her reading on.

She has a martini before dinner and a glass of Bordeaux with her steak, but limits herself to that. She hasn’t been drinking much, lately, and she knows that two drinks are her limit right now. After the foie gras and the steak and the dessert--a scoop of raspberry sorbet--she leans back in her chair, closes the book and surveys the remnants of her dinner. This is the most she’s eaten in ages and she feels pleasantly warm and full and… content, she realizes. It’s been so long since she’s felt any real positive emotions she almost didn’t recognize it. For the first time since… she feels like she’s stepped back from the edge of the cliff she’d been teetering over.

It’s a relief.

She signs the chit with her name and member number and stands up from the table. She’s reluctant to go back to her apartment but she knows that Mike and her parents will be frantic with worry. And besides, now that she knows that she can find peace here, she can return. She holds onto that thought as she collects her coat from the coatroom and uses the bathroom quickly before walking up Park Avenue to her apartment.

 

By the time she steps into her elevator she’s lost most of the peace she’d found this afternoon. She feels herself tense as she walks down the hall, realizing how callous it was to disappear for the day without telling her parents or Mike where she was going. She shouldn’t have done that, even if she did need her space.

She finds her keys in her purse and unlocks her door. As it opens, she spots Mike, standing in the foyer, waiting for her. He sighs in relief as she steps inside and turns to close the door.

‘I was worried,’ he admits when she turns to face him. ‘When you’d left…’

‘I just--I needed some space,’ she tells him, shedding her blazer and dropping her purse on the bench. She sits down to ease off her shoes, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.

‘You okay?’ he asks her, and she nods. ‘That was… I hadn’t expected Melnick to know about Diane.’

She shrugs. ‘Neither did I, though I suppose I should have prepared for it. Stone was… angry.’

‘Well, fuck him,’ Mike says, voice tight with suppressed fury. ‘He should’ve prosecuted the first time. Fucking bastard.’

She sighs and rubs her hand over her eyes. ‘I don’t disagree. Where are my parents?’

‘Living room,’ he says, and sits down next to her. ‘Lizzie… I think we’re gonna get him.’

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. ‘I hope so, Mike. Because if not… what was all this for?’

He doesn’t have anything to say in response. He just holds her tight and she clutches him, breathing in his scent, leaning against him and letting herself accept comfort from him.

 

She talks to her parents briefly and then goes to take a shower and get ready for bed. She doesn’t, can’t, be confronted with her parents’ concern, their anger at Stone and Melnick and the bastard, and she just… she just needs to hold onto the small sliver of peace she has left.

Mike is waiting for her in bed, reading a book, though he sets it aside when she comes in. She’s started wearing her nightgowns again now that the bruises have faded, and while she still isn’t remotely ready to think about anything physical she does appreciate the way his eyes light up when he sees her.

But for the first time in months she feels a spark of attraction when she sees him smile at her. It’s not much, but it’s something, and when she climbs into bed next to him she leans over to kiss him.

The kiss is soft, gentle, undemanding at first, but the touch of his lips to hers, and his subsequent embrace, kindles the spark into a small flame. She opens her mouth to deepen the kiss and he responds automatically, holding her closer, running one hand down her back. She gasps, her heart racing with desire and not fear for the first time in weeks, and the small sound brings him back to himself. He pulls back, shock and apology written across his face.

‘Lizzie, I’m so sorry--’

‘Don’t,’ she begs him, wanting this to be normal again, for them to go back to normal. ‘I want you.’

She does, she realizes, and she feels her stomach clench as his eyes darken and he smiles.

‘You sure?’

She nods and leans forward again to kiss him. He responds, kisses filled with passion but gentle, and she feels herself start to respond. She wants to weep with relief as he raises his hand to caress her breast and she feels her heartbeat quicken with need.

He rolls her onto her back, still gently, and she clutches him tight as he settles between her legs. But suddenly everything she’s felt turns sour as his weight settles on top of her and her heart pounds in fear now. Before she knows what she’s doing she’s pushing him off, her hands raising to push him away, and she’s sobbing, terrifying gasps, tears running down her face long after he moves away.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he tells her, looking frantic, and she reaches out to clutch him.

‘Why isn’t this over yet?’ she whispers, burying her face against his chest, letting the scent of him and his embrace soothe her. ‘Oh, God, Mike, I just… I want this to be over, I want to…’

‘I know,’ he replies softly, nuzzling her hair. ‘Soon, Lizzie. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’

She falls into an exhausted sleep soon after, held tight in his arms, and for once sleeps through the night without nightmares.

 

The next day is even worse.

Stone calls two more witnesses--the nurse from Lenox Hill, who says the same things the doctor said, her mother tells her in a whisper. Don Cragen, who testifies that Phil was the lead on the case but is recovering from being shot. He tries to say that the bastard molested her first, but Melnick cuts him off and shuts him down. After Cragen, Stone rests his case, and she frowns. That’s it? Five witnesses? She knows that Mike and Phil interviewed other patients of the bastard’s, including a woman who said that he hurt her when he didn’t use anaesthesia, and the bastard’s first wife… why didn’t he call them? She feels a growing sense of unease as to how the case is being handled, despite the fact that the jury looks at her with pity and the bastard with revulsion.

After Stone rests his case, Melnick asks for a recess until Monday. She says that she thought the District Attorney’s office would have put on far more witnesses, and hers aren’t ready.

She knows that, while the jury may be on her side, the judge emphatically is not. He grants Melnick’s motion.

She ignores Stone when he tries to talk to her, offers a small smile to Paul, and lets her parents flank her as they leave the courtroom.

They ignore the reporters, thank God, her father wrapping his arm around her and her mother staring them down with the intimidating stare she does so well. Her father’s driver is waiting for them, and Daddy ushers her inside.

‘I’m surprised,’ her mother admits as soon as they start driving away from the courthouse.

‘Me too,’ she agrees solemnly, absorbed in her thoughts. Almost another week… hopefully it will be over soon.


	28. Chapter 28

He's working long hours now, trying to get the guy for Phil, trying to get the guy for Lizzie… he wants to take some time off with her after the trial, take her away somewhere, so if he pulls extra shifts he’ll have more money and time to do that. 

She's gonna need the break, whether they get him or not. 

And another reason keeping him at the precinct… he's feeling guilty beyond belief at what he did, at how he betrayed her… Sherri had called him at the precinct the day after and he made it clear that it was a one-time thing. She'd taken it well, thank Christ, and she's not the sort to blab anyway. He prays--for the first time in years--that Lizzie never finds out. It would break her heart. 

So he signs up for extra shifts and comes home and tries to take care of her and holds her close and loves her and tries not to cry when she wakes up screaming. 

 

He can't watch the whole trial, only the first day. He can't take the time off and besides, if he showed up every day it would only lend credence to the rumors about them. The jury isn't sequestered and Melnick had already shown she’ll use the press as a weapon. Better to stay away, get back to the apartment late and leave early, and stay under the radar. 

After the first day of the trial she'd disappeared for the entire afternoon and evening. When she came back she was, oddly, more peaceful than she'd been since it happened. She'd kissed him with passion and said she wanted to go further, but she couldn't. It tore him apart. He never wants to make her feel that way, and he figures it was when he rolled her onto her back, his weight… he was stupid. That's how he bastard did it, so whenever she wants to try it again, he’ll pull her onto his lap, and… he cuts his thoughts off but it's too late, his body has already started to respond. He tries to concentrate on anything else but it's been so long, and he's in the shower, and…

He feels vaguely disgusted with himself when he gets out of the shower. From now on, he can hold off until she's ready. It’ll be fine. 

 

He does come to the trial on Monday, though, to listen to the bastard testify. He can only take the morning, but that’s all he needs.

The nurse goes first, and lies on the stand, claiming Lizzie was flirting with the bastard, that she found him attractive. He’s on the edge of his seat, waiting for Stone to discredit her with what he’s dug up on her--two drug convictions, using and selling--he sent the report over last week. He’s relieved that he found something on her, because he figured Merritt was gonna have her in his pocket.

But to his astonishment, then anger, Stone only asks her about her salary.

 _What the fuck?_ he thinks, unable to get Stone or Robinette’s attention. He’s in the last row but one, and he can barely see them in the packed courtroom. Lizzie is sitting next to her parents, and Chrissy is behind her next to Peter and Miranda. He can barely see her, though he sees from her jerky movements she’s tense and angry.

The doctor is up next.

Melnick goes first. ‘The District Attorney has produced a tape which they claim is evidenced that you raped Miss Olivet. Is that true?’

‘Of course you didn't hear the flirtations on the tape that occurred in my office, prior to the examination,’ the bastard says, slippery as an oil spill.

‘Was this the first time she was friendly?’ Melnick asks.

The bastard shakes his head. ‘Miss Olivet's dialogue was suggestive from the moment we met. As a matter of fact, she called me earlier in the day and it wasn’t about her scheduled appointment. I shouldn't have made love to her, I realize that.’

He almost vomits. If he’s feeling like this, how does Lizzie feel?

The bastard continues, ‘I regret it. But there's no way in hell that I raped her.’

Melnick concludes with a simple, ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

When Stone stands, he is praying that he fixes this mess.

‘Doctor, your nurse, Miss Gregg, testified that many of your patients become suggestive with you, is that true?’

‘Yes,’ the bastard replies, as though it’s _normal_ , as though he’s not a rapist, the scum of the earth… 

 

‘Was Dr. Olivet the only one you ever had sex with?’

Melnick stands. ‘Objection. Relevance.’

‘Offered to show defendant's predisposition, Your Honor,’ Stone says.

Melnick snarks, ‘The defendant is predisposed to have sex. He is a human being. The issue here is whether he had non-consensual sex.’

‘Sustained,’ the judge says, and he’s just as bad, he’s clearly against Lizzie… 

Stone tries, ‘Then tell me about your second wife, Doctor. Specifically, why she killed herself wearing a leather hood.’

The bastard looks astonished and Melnick says again, ‘Objection. Relevance.’

Stone is getting angry now. ‘Your Honor, the defendant tends towards aberrant sexual practices. And this is offered to show his predisposition to criminal sexual behavior.’

The judge beckons them. ‘Approach.’

He’s covered the microphone, so he can’t hear what they’re saying, but Stone looks pissed.

‘The objection is sustained,’ the judge calls as the lawyers make their way back. ‘The jury will disregard the preceding question.’

Stone tries a different tack. ‘Dr. Olivet testified that after the injection she was left immobile, nearly unconscious. Is that a typical reaction to an anesthetic, Doctor?’

The bastard shrugs. ‘Some people have allergic reactions. I gave her a local, a small dosage of lidocaine. It was for her own benefit.’

‘Do you usually anaesthetize your partners before sex, Doctor?’ Stone asks angrily.

‘Objection!’ Melnick calls.

‘Withdrawn. Do you call all your women bitches, Doctor?’ Stone asks.

‘Your Honor!’ Melnick cries.

‘Enough, Mr. Stone,’ the judge says, and Stone throws up his hands and stalks back to the table.

What the fuck--is that it? he thinks, as the judge begins to instruct the jury. It is, apparently, because they give their closings and the jury follows out and the judge leaves and everyone rises.

He can’t make his way to Lizzie, not here and not now, especially as she doesn’t know he’s here and he doesn’t want to startle her. He spots Diana making her way towards Lizzie and remembers what she said--that she’d ask Lizzie to come back to her office with her. He makes his way out of the courtroom and over to Hogan Place.

They catch up to him while he’s waiting for the elevators. Lizzie looks at him with something approaching relief, and Isobel and Nick look drained and weary. Diana is stoic, holding up well, though he knows how awful it is to see someone you love go through this.

‘Jack’s in court, so we can wait for the verdict in his office. I asked the court clerk to call there when the jury’s back.’

‘How long do you think it will take?’ he hears Nick ask as he makes his way over to Lizzie, standing next to her but not touching her.

‘You okay?’

‘I will be when this is over,’ she murmurs, then steps forward into the waiting elevator.

 

As soon as they get to McCoy’s office they abandon all pretense and she sits next to him in one of the desk chairs, holding his hand. Nick and Isobel sit on the sofa with Chrissy, and Diana sits in the last chair.

They don’t talk, just wait.

The phone rings after forty-five minutes; just over an hour from when the jury was dismissed.

‘That’s not it, is it?’ Nick asks, and Diana shakes her head. ‘Too soon.’ She picks up the phone. ‘Hawthorne. Mmhmm. Okay, thank you.’ She looks at them. ‘I was wrong. Jury’s back.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ Liz asks.

Diana lifts her shoulders in a helpless shrug. ‘I don’t know. Let’s go.’

 

This time he doesn’t give a damn who sees them--if the jury’s back already it’s got to be good, right? Because there was no question in their mind that the bastard was guilty. He walks next to her and wants so badly to hold her hand, but he restrains himself, just letting himself rest his hand on her back as they walk up the steps to the courthouse.


	29. Chapter 29

His hand on her back in public--the mere fact of him walking by her side with her parents and Chrissy there--is a declaration, not only of their relationship but also that it’s almost over.

Finally, finally, finally.

She forces herself to remain calm as they find seats behind Stone and Robinette, rise for the judge, and watch the jury file into the room. Her father is next to her, and he rests his hand on hers, clenched tightly in her lap. Mike leans forward in the row behind her and touches her back lightly, lightly.

‘Madam Forewoman, have you reached a verdict?’ the judge asks at last.

‘We have, Your Honor. On the sole count of the indictment, Rape in the First Degree, how do you find? We find the defendant guilty,’ the forewoman says, and oh, God--oh, God, she feels such relief, it’s over, he’ll be in jail, it’s over at last, at last, at last… 

She leans forward and shakes Stone’s hand, and she’s smiling, she realizes, a real, genuine smile for the first time in so long. Her parents are hugging next to her, and Mike’s hand is on her back and all she can think is _thank God, thank God._

But then the judge bangs the gavel and her heart clenches suddenly with fear.

‘Is this unanimous?’ the judge asks, his voice cold, and she leans back against her seat, watching in fear as this happens again… 

‘It is, Your Honor,’ the forewoman replies, clearly confused.

‘It is your job to listen to all of the evidence, not pick and choose at your whim. The evidence clearly established that but for the actions of the police, Dr. Merritt would never have formed the requisite criminal intent. And the State utterly failed to demonstrate that the defendant was predisposed to criminal behavior.’

She’s frozen as Stone interjects, ‘Your Honor--!’

The judge talks over him. ‘When a respected doctor without any prior tendency towards criminal behavior is induced, and very possibly seduced--’ _no no no no no_ ‘into committing a crime, it's an outrage. I, for one, will not ruin a man’s life because the police overstepped their bounds and a jury is too blinded by graphic photos and emotional testimony to see it. As such, I'm entering a trial order of dismissal.’

 _God, no_ , she thinks.

Melnick laughs, and she looks over at them for the first time.

He meets her eyes.

He smiles.

Her heart clenches in fear and panic and she freezes and then Mike’s hands are on her shoulders and she tenses and flinches away from his touch but then she looks up into his eyes and she can move again, warmed by the anger and rage there, and he tells her that it’s time to go.


	30. Chapter 30

_Oh, no_ , she thinks, looking at her husband. _Oh, God, no._

He’s watching their daughter, she moves to look at her, and she’s looking at _him_ , she’s frozen as he smiles at her, cold and smug and _victorious_ , and she reaches out for her. Michael is there, though, and he takes her by the shoulders and turns her to look at him, and then she can move again, and he leans forward and whispers something in her ear, and she nods and looks at them.

‘Time to go,’ Michael says, leaning forward. ‘Follow me. We’re going to Hogan Place, gotta talk to Stone.’

She nods, and she looks at her husband, who is looking at the _complete and utter bastard_ with such hate and loathing in his eyes that she almost flinches away.

 

They follow Michael and Diana through a maze of corridors, emerging onto a side street. Diana proceeds to take the lead from here, bringing them around to an alley and up through a service elevator. During this trek she looks over at her daughter constantly, and she’s never seen her like this before, not even during this ordeal. She seems… removed, as though she’s behind walls of glass, and her heart aches.

Michael doesn’t let himself stop touching her, even if it’s just a hand on her back, the whole way. She knows it’s the lifeline she’s clinging to.

Diana lets them into Stone’s office, then apologizes--she has a case that afternoon, she says, and when it’s clear that Liz isn’t grasping what she’s saying, Michael nods and says it’s fine. She shoots them an apologetic look and rushes off.

Slowly, slowly, Liz comes back to herself.

‘How did this happen?’ she asks.

‘I dunno, Lizzie, Stone fucked up,’ Michael says angrily, pacing. ‘I gave him so much--’

There’s a knock on the door and then Stone enters. He looks a bit astonished to see them all there, or perhaps just to see Michael. He clears his throat.

‘Elizabeth--I am so sorry,’ he begins. ‘We’ll get him, I promise.’

Michael snorts, and Stone looks at him, clearly trying to keep his temper.

‘Adam has asked to talk to me. Would you like to join me? We would value your take on this.’

She opens her mouth to protest, to say that no, she needs time, but this is, after all, the reason they came. Liz nods, coming back to herself, and stands up. She’s still behind these walls, she realizes, but that’s how she needs to be, right now.


	31. Chapter 31

Quite frankly he’s surprised to see Logan in his office with Elizabeth and her family. He’d guessed at something between them when she said they had a “personal relationship” on the stand, and his presence during the trial is another piece of corroborating evidence. But he was holding her hand… and he was angry… well, that surprised him.

Elizabeth is very calm. He’s surprised, because he himself is so angry… he leads her around the corner to Adam’s office.

‘He could just disregard the jury's verdict?’ Elizabeth says, after Adam expresses his dissatisfaction of the outcome.

‘If he feels the jury disregarded the facts presented, yes, he can,’ he replies.

‘Yup. We should've seen it coming,’ Adam tells them. ‘The Honorable Keith Silver wrote the book on the rights of the accused. He thinks Miranda five pages too short.’

‘So Merritt just walks away scot-free?’ she asks them, and for the first time he hears a flicker of emotion--disbelief--in her her voice. 

‘Oh, there's got to be others. What about that Perkins woman?’ Adam asks. 

She slips back into her professional persona at that question, the mask almost seamless, and he forces himself to hide the shock on his face that she can just flip it on and off like that. 

‘I can't imagine what a trial would do to her. She's still unable to tell me exactly what happened.’

‘What do we know about that nurse?’ Adam asks, weary. 

‘I know she lied for him on the stand,’ Paul says to them. 

‘Job's that good, it's worth jail time?’

‘You think he's got something on her?’ he asks.

‘I thought you can't retry him,’ Elizabeth questions.

‘Not for what he did to you, but we do know the doctor has a history,’ he says.

‘Check out Nurse Gregg,’ Adam instructs them. Paul nods.

He turns to Elizabeth. 

‘I should get back to my parents,’ she says, slipping back into herself again. This is the first time he's realized that she wears a mask, and he's struck by how little he knows her despite working with her, despite this case, despite the fact he was going to ask her to dinner before all this happened… ‘Is that all right?’

He shakes his head to clear it. ‘Of course. Feel free to use my office as long as you need.’

She says goodbye to Adam and then turns to him as they walk out the door. 

‘I'm going home, but thank you for the offer,’ she tells him. As they turn the corner to his office, he stops before she can open the door. 

‘Elizabeth--I’m so sorry,’ he tells her. 

She gives him a small, humorless smile. ‘So am I.’

He doesn't know what to say and she opens the door to his office, stepping inside. As the door swings closed he watches her walk straight into Logan’s embrace, letting him hold her tight.


	32. Chapter 32

When they get back to the apartment she's locked into herself again, and Michael guides her down the hallway to their bedroom while he gets drinks. Chrissy has gone back to her apartment, to the baby, and Isobel has gone into the living room, curling up in the slipper chair by the fireplace. 

He bends to build a fire, leaving the tray of drinks on the coffee table, heedless of his suit and the ash from the fireplace. He takes his time to build it well, and then lights it, and only then does he look at his wife. 

‘I can't believe it,’ she whispers, her hands around her brandy snifter. ‘That judge…’

‘We’ll do whatever it takes to get him off the bench,’ he says, collecting his scotch. ‘Whatever it takes.’

She nods tightly, and before he can say anything else Michael reappears. He looks as though he's been beaten up--defeated and lost, he grabs his drink and sinks onto the sofa. 

‘I'm gonna take her away for a while,’ he tells them, staring into the fire. ‘She likes Bermuda, right? It's gonna be warm there?’

‘Yes, she loves it there,’ Isobel says. ‘When will you go?’

‘As soon as possible. Tomorrow, if I can get tickets for a flight.’

He shakes his head. ‘You can use the bank’s plane. No one is using it this week.’

He meets his eyes. ‘That'd be great, thanks. I want to get her out of here before the news grabs onto this. It was bad enough this past week…’

‘Good idea,’ Isobel says. ‘I’ll call the club, book one of the cottages.’ At Michael’s curious look, she says, ‘we're members of the Coral Beach Club. It's very private, only about twenty rooms and six cottages. It's right on the beach and everything you'll need will be there.’

‘Great,’ he says in relief. ‘I'll pay for it, but if you can make the arrangements--’

‘No, we’ll pay for it,’ he says, touched by the offer. He knows that he won't really be able to afford it, but the fact that he wants to try… he really loves their daughter. ‘Thank you, Michael. Let me call the pilot.’

‘Thank you,’ Michael says, his voice soft. ‘If we can get out of here early tomorrow morning, that would be ideal. I don't want her seein’ the papers.’

‘I'll see if we can get you out of here tonight,’ he says. ‘It's only two o’clock, early enough.’

Michael runs a hand over his eyes. ‘You're right. Christ, it feels like it's been a week…’

‘Yes,’ Isobel agrees. ‘All right. Nick, call the pilot and then I'll call the club. Michael, get your things packed. Do you need to go back to your apartment?’

He nods. ‘Gotta get my passport and a couple things.’

Isobel says, ‘Do that now, and then by the time you get back everything will be all set.’

He nods tightly and heads out the door without another word. 

Isobel looks at him. ‘Do you think this will work?’

‘I don't know,’ he admits. ‘I hope so.’


	33. Chapter 33

He’d gotten the passport a couple weeks ago, figuring he was gonna take her somewhere when it was all over. He's glad of it now, because they've gotta get out of here, he has to get her out before she walls herself in forever, because then he's never gonna get her out, he’ll lose her… he fights down a rising sense of panic. They're gonna get out, either tonight or tomorrow at the latest. It’s gonna be all right. He’s already taken this week off, and the first two days of next week, once he talked to Paul on Thursday and realized Melnick was only putting on the bastard and the nurse. He figured it would only take a day, maybe another for the jury to come back, and he was right.

He just can’t believe this fucking judge.

He reaches his apartment--he’s on foot, not wanting to deal with his car, which is parked in Lizzie’s garage--and tosses a couple things into a bag. Most of the clothes he figures he’s gonna need to wear are at Liz’s apartment anyway--the stuff she bought him this summer--but he throws in his sneakers and some running shorts and tshirts before grabbing his bag and heading back to the apartment.

 

When he gets back, Nick and Isobel have changed out of their court clothes and into what, for them, passes as casual wear. 

Nick says, ‘The flight’s tomorrow at 6am from Teterboro. I’ll have my driver take you. You should leave by 5:00.’ He pauses, then says, ‘is that early enough?’

‘Perfect,’ he says with relief. ‘Did you tell Lizzie?’

‘I told her,’ Isobel says. ‘She’s packing now.’

‘Thanks,’ he says in relief, and then heads down the hallway to their room.

She’s finished packing, her bag set at the foot of her bed, and she’s in bed, covers pulled up to her chin, even though she’s not asleep.

‘Thank you,’ she tells him, voice muffled from the covers.

He nods. ‘I hope this helps.’

‘Me too. I set an alarm for the morning,’ she says, and closes her eyes.

‘You goin’ to sleep now?’ he asks.

She nods without opening them. ‘I just need to sleep.’

‘Okay,’ he says gently. ‘I’m gonna get something to eat, then I’ll come back.’

‘Okay,’ she mumbles, her voice thickening with exhaustion. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you,’ he echoes, and closes the door softly behind him.

 

Nick’s ordered takeout from some Italian place around the corner and they eat in silence. He helps Isobel clean up.

‘You’ll call us?’ she asks. ‘If anything happens, or if she needs anything…?’

‘Yeah,’ he promises. ‘I will.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispers, and he nods.

‘Whatever I can do. I hope you know that.’


	34. Chapter 34

Her alarm clock rings at 3:30 and she struggles out of the sticky morass of her nightmares. It's over--she thought it would stop after the trial, but the knowledge that he's out there, that he can do it again… it will never be over. She's glad they're leaving. 

She's vowed to herself that she will not let this follow her. She is leaving everything behind, and she will pick it up when she gets back, if she has to, but now--she must, must find a way back to herself. Bermuda has always been an escape and now more than ever. She can do it. She can pretend as though nothing’s wrong. She can compartmentalize things and just set this aside for now, pick it up when she gets home, just… stop thinking about this for a little while. She promises herself that she'll do that. 

And so with that vow in mind, she packs the outfit she'd bought for his birthday, and a few other things besides. She figured out what went wrong--his weight being on top of her--so they will just work around that. And this will help her heal, she knows. She just has to make the leap. 

 

He’s up, barely, by the time she finishes in the bathroom, and he takes his turn while she brings their bags to the door. She can’t wait to get out of here.

Mike joins her, dressed and ready, ten minutes later, and her parents emerge, sleepy and dishevelled, from the guest room to say goodbye. She hugs them tight and then lets Mike wrap his arm around her as they go down to meet the car.

 

The flight is short--it always is, it’s only ninety minutes--and he falls asleep as soon as they get on the plane. She stays awake; having deliberately and consciously set aside everything from the past few months, she feels… light, somehow, as though she’s weightless. 

She wakes up when they land, so she must have fallen asleep too, and he’s smiling at her. For the first time in ages, she smiles back.

 

Disembarking from the plane is a blur. She leads the way, presenting her passport and customs form to the official waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He does the same, setting down his bag, and then a car drives up to the side of the plane. Before they can do anything, their bags are unloaded and in the car and she’s slid into the backseat, waiting for him. He follows her lead and settles himself in the comfortable leather seat. She finds her sunglasses in her purse; he digs his out of his pocket and puts them on in the bright sunshine.

‘It’s warm,’ he remarks as the driver starts the car. ‘I didn’t think it would be like this.’

‘Mm, yes, it’s lovely,’ she says, leaning back against the seat, feeling herself smile. ‘I love it here. It’s a nice break from the chilly weather.’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘So tell me about Bermuda.’

She smiles to herself. ‘We try to come out here a couple times a year, though unfortunately I haven’t been here for a couple of years now. We always stay at Coral Beach, usually in one of the cottages. We love it--it’s right on the water. You’ll see. Maybe we can take a walk on the beach later,’ she suggests, feeling overwhelmed that she’s even eager to do things.

‘Sure. That sounds good.’

‘The sand is pink. It’s just a perfect place, Mike--I’m glad we can share it.’

He grins at her and she returns it, feeling… happy. ‘Me too.’

 

They both stare out the windows as the car winds its way from the airport to Coral Beach. She glances over at him from time to time--he’s transfixed by the views out the car window. She wonders if he’s ever seen anything like this before--the pastel walls and houses, the white roofs--‘limestone--there’s no fresh water on the island, so rainwater is caught on the roof and purified by the lime,’ she comments--and the trees. People zip along on mopeds, mostly, and pink buses go by.

‘Nicer than the MTA,’ he remarks, and she laughs, then catches herself. Laughing… unthinkable even the other day. She takes a deep breath. This is how it feels to be happy.

Being here with him has already made a difference. She’s already much more relaxed than she was back home, much calmer. This will be good for her, she can already tell. This was the right decision… and she’s so grateful to him for deciding it.

The drive to the club takes about twenty minutes, though it passes quickly as she watches him take in all there is to see of the island. The car pulls down a long, crushed-shell-covered driveway, and stops. All of the sudden she can’t wait to get out and she does, scrambling out of the car, and then he’s at her side, and they’re embracing and he’s kissing her lightly and everything feels all right for the first time in so long. 

 

They check in and one of the staff brings their bags to the cottage closest to the ocean, with its own private path to the beach. They follow, her hand held tightly in hers, and she basks in the warmth of the day and the bright sun and the sound of the waves on the beach.

She loves it here. She’s been here so many times over her life, and they’ve often stayed in this cottage. It’s familiar, and as they step into the cottage, she smiles to herself again. Their bags are left and they are alone.

She turns to him. He’s looking around, as he always does, scrutinizing. Sometimes she doesn’t know if he knows he’s doing it--memorizing the scene, looking for exits. His eyes linger on the windows overlooking the ocean below.

‘What do you think?’ she asks, and he turns back to her and grins.

‘Nicer than I expected,’ he tells her. ‘It’s beautiful. Didn’t think it’d be like this.’

‘I love it here,’ she says, feeling a smile spread across her face. ‘I’m so glad we’re here.’

‘Me too,’ he says, and she crosses the room to him, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his heart. ‘Lizzie--’ he says softly.

‘Don’t,’ she says, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. ‘It’s different, here, Mike. Everything that’s happened… it’s back in the city. And I’ll deal with it when we get home but here, now, this week… I don’t want to remember. I just want it to be us.’

‘Okay,’ he agrees, running a hand down her back. ‘You know best--you’re the doc.’

She laughs, an irresistible giggle bubbling up. After a long moment, he laughs too, and she feels… at peace, finally.

 

They unpack. She’s brought bright, summery dresses, shorts and polos for sailing, and he’s brought a few suits and the same sort of casual clothes. And then after it feels natural to turn to him and smile.

‘Ready for lunch?’ he asks her.

‘Let me get changed first,’ she says. ‘And then I’ll be ready.’

‘I should too,’ he says, looking down at his outfit. ‘What should I wear?’

‘I’m going to wear a dress. Maybe your khakis and a blazer?’

He nods and she goes to the closet, pulling out a light blue linen dress. For the first time since… since it happened, she starts undressing in front of him. She meets his eyes and smiles slowly, watching as his eyes darken as she reveals more and more skin.

Finally, she stands before him only in her underwear--simple cotton, but bordered with lace, and he grins at her.

‘Thought we were gonna go have lunch,’ he says. 

‘I think I'd like something else first,’ she tells him, and walks over to him. She slowly unbuttons his shirt, enjoying the feel of his hands on her waist, against her bare skin, and then unbuckles his belt. He runs one hand down her backside and she shivers as heat begins to spread low. 

‘You sure?’ he asks, and she nods, pushing him back towards the bench at the foot of the bed. He sits down and she takes off her bra, then her underwear. 

‘Take off your pants,’ she tells him, and he nods, standing again to kick off his pants and his boxers. She sighs shakily--she's nervous, but she wants him, and more than that--wants things to be back to normal. 

She straddles him and dips her head to kiss him, and his hands are on her waist again, stroking her hips, her bottom, one hand moving low to press against her. She moans softly, involuntarily, and he breaks the kiss to look up at her. 

‘God, I love you, Lizzie,’ he says. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too,’ she says, and he begins to circle his hand, causing the heat to grow and spread… she strokes him perfunctorily, then rises up on her knees. She forces herself to relax, to look into his eyes and remember that this is the man she loves, the man who loves her, and slowly fits them together. 

She closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder, letting out a sharp exhalation of breath. He groans, softly, his breath hot against her cheek, and she adjusts to the feel of him inside her, the scent of him… neither of them moves for a long moment, then he starts to move his hand again, and the heat builds and she starts to move, slowly, opening her eyes and looking at him, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the way his lips curve into an involuntary smile, and how handsome he is… and then he opens his eyes and smiles at her, grins, and his breath is coming faster, and so is hers, and her heart is racing and she moves faster, his hand still circling, his eyes dark, and then she hears herself moan, and the heat engulfs her, like a fire, like falling off a cliff, and she closes her eyes and cries out and lets herself go, finally, at last. She feels him tense and then he says her name once, then again, then pulls her down on top of him and holds her close.

She doesn’t want to move, not now, feeling… warm and content and happy. She hasn’t lost herself. She’s all right. She’s safe. She rests her head on his shoulder and he turns his head to kiss her temple.

‘You all right?’ he asks softly.

‘Mm,’ she agrees, nodding. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

She feels him huff a laugh, his breath skittering across her hair. ‘For what?’

‘For being you,’ she replies. ‘For loving me. For everything.’

He kisses her temple again. ‘I love you, Lizzie. I love you forever.’

‘I know,’ she says, and smiles against his shoulder. ‘I love you too.’

 

They decide to order room service for lunch instead of going to the terrace to eat. She showers first while he places the order, washing quickly and putting up her hair before slipping her dress on over her bare body. She feels good, she thinks, and smiles at her reflection in the mirror. The lines of strain around her eyes and mouth are gone and only in their absence has she noticed them for the first time.

She goes out into the sitting room to join him. He’s put back on his boxers and smiles at her.

‘You look beautiful, Lizzie,’ he tells her. ‘I ordered lunch. Gonna take a quick shower, okay?’

She nods. ‘I’ll have them set up lunch outside. It’s a perfect day.’

He comes close to her and hugs her, burying his face in his hair. ‘You’re perfect, Lizzie.’

‘You are,’ she tells him, and he tightens his embrace for a long moment before kissing her forehead and heading back to the bathroom.

She’s waiting outside, leaning back in one of the chairs, looking down at the sea below. She feels more like herself for the first time in ages, calm and not stunned, as she had been. This was a good idea. A wonderful idea. Being here… she’s at peace. And they’ll have a week.

After lunch they can go swimming, then maybe go back to bed… and then afternoon tea, then cocktails, then dinner… their entire week can be spent so peacefully, so blissfully.

She remembers what he said that summer, that the week they took for the Fourth was the longest time he’d ever had off. Well, this is another week they’ve managed to carve out for themselves--a week of peace. Of relaxation. Of connection.

She hadn’t realized how lost, how lonely, she’d been without him and without this.

He joins her just then, wearing shorts and an untucked white linen shirt she’d bought him this summer. He’s barefoot and he looks so good, so handsome, and she smiles at him.

‘You look good,’ she says as he sits next to her.

‘Well, I’m happy to be here with you.’ He reaches out and squeezes her knee. ‘This is gonna be a good week.’

‘Yes,’ she agrees, and the waiter appears, carrying their lunch on a tray. ‘It will be.’


	35. Chapter 35

She’s taking a nap, now; suddenly exhausted after lunch, she'd told him she wanted to rest for a bit before they went swimming. He'd agreed and she smiled easily, without a hint of the strain that had been present for months now. It was such a relief. 

He sighs and leans back in his chair. God, being here… it feels like a dream. Bermuda is nothing like he's ever seen before and the fact that it's completely different from New York is obviously helping her. And being able to take that last step with her… he grins. Good. He's glad that they've been able to find their way back to each other. She was nervous, and so was he--he never thought he'd be nervous of this, but he pretended he wasn't, knowing she needed him to pretend that everything was normal. He let her take the lead, take control, and if it wasn't as explosive as it usually was, she was happy, she was good, and he finally felt connected to her again. They've made the first step and it's only gonna be easier from now on. 

He's grateful that Nick and Isobel helped arrange this. He's so grateful that they've been able to hit pause on this and just take a break from the nightmare. They'll have to go back, he knows, but this week… it'll be good.

He stands up and walks across the patio to the French doors, open to the ocean below, translucent curtains blowing gently in the breeze. This, too, is different--she locked every door and window at home--but there she is in the middle of the bed, only a sheet covering her, sleeping peacefully. He smiles at the sight. It’s the first time in so long she’s been able to sleep like this, without the tension that’s marred everything.

She shifts in her sleep, stretching languidly, and sighs, a soft sound that shoots straight through him. The sheet slips down and he sees that she’s not wearing anything. All he wants to do is go over to her, wake her up with a kiss, and… 

She opens her eyes, sighs happily, and then her gaze lands on him.

‘Why are you all the way over there?’ she asks, her voice husky with sleep.

It feels like a blessing. He crosses the room in a few steps and lets her pull him down into the bed next to her, kissing her, holding her close.

 

After, they go down to the beach. He’s pulled on his navy swim trunks and the white linen shirt she’d bought him, and she’s wearing a sleeveless cotton dress over a suit with a plunging back. She grabs two beach towels from the stack in the linen closet, puts them in a tote bag along with sunblock, sunglasses, and a book. He tucks a book in there too, and then takes her hand as they head down the path to the beach.

As soon as they reach the beach--and it’s not crowded at all, just a family with two older kids--an attendant sets up beach chairs for them, and she spreads out towels on the chairs for the two of them. She strips off her coverup and folds it neatly, then smiles at him.

‘The water’s going to be lovely,’ she tells him. ‘Come on. We can have cocktails after.’

‘Won’t say no to that,’ he says, grinning back at her. ‘Let’s go.’

 

The water is great--the waves way gentler and water a lot warmer than the beach at Peter and Miranda’s place. She is in her element here--filled with happiness so infectious he can’t keep from grinning at her. She swims out far, then back to him, while he watches her. She’s a strong swimmer, and a good one, unlike him--he can barely doggy-paddle. But he loves to watch her. There’s something so elegant about the way she moves in the water.

When she swims back to him, she swims close and kisses him.

‘Isn’t this nice?’ she asks, and there’s a light in her eyes that hasn’t been there for so long.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘It is.’

Eventually they swim back to shore and she orders drinks for them from the waiter who appears. She leans back and closes her eyes while they wait; he can’t stop looking at her.

‘You look good,’ he tells her, eyes skimming her body. She’s always been the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, but now, in the sun, in this paradise, she looks better than ever. Maybe it’s because she’s been in so much pain for so long; maybe it’s because all of this feels new again. No matter what it is, she looks beautiful.

She’s smiling at him, he realizes. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ she tells him, and he grins back at her.

‘I’m happy,’ he says. ‘Are you?’

‘Very,’ she replies. ‘It’s so nice to be here with you.’

 

After drinks, they go for another quick swim, then head back to the cottage to get dressed. Her movements are easy again, and he loves walking behind her, watching the sway of her hips.

They take their time showering in the outdoor shower, then he sprawls on the bed as she moves around the room, deciding what to wear. She left her bathing suit drying outside, just as he has, and she looks beautiful in the late afternoon sun, the start of a tan on her pale skin.

‘How about this?’ she says at last, holding up a French blue dress. She wore it once this summer, dinner at the family’s beach club, and she’d looked radiant in it, like a painting come to life.

‘I love that dress,’ he tells her, and she blushes and smiles.

‘Well, good. I’ll wear it then.’

‘D’you have to get dressed now?’ he asks, and her flush deepens. ‘Or do we have time for…?’

‘I think we can spare a little time,’ she tells him, walking over to the bed and smiling down at him. He pulls her down next to him, running his hand down her side. She sighs lightly and he grins up at her.

‘You’re so beautiful, Lizzie,’ he tells her, settling his hands on her waist. She rests her hand on his chest, over his heart, which is racing as it always is when he’s near her. Slowly she bends to kiss him, her hair falling forward, and her soft lips meet his. He groans at the feel of her, responding as he always does to her touch, and he feels her sharp intake of breath as he pulls her on top of him.

‘God,’ she whispers against his lips. ‘Oh, God, Mike--’

He rolls her onto her side, looking into her eyes, dark with want. Her breath is coming quickly now and she’s smiling at him. Reaching between them, she guides him into her, one leg thrown over his hip. Her head drops back as she moans and he kisses her throat, starting to move. He can feel her pulse flutter, the way her breath catches, and he lowers his hand.

Every time with her is a revelation. Time loses all meaning when they're like this; there's only the feeling of closeness, of love, of want. Passion builds and he’s so close, so close, when she opens her eyes and looks at him and moans, tensing, shuddering, giving herself up to the passion they share. He lets himself go at last and she clutches him tight, pressing closer to him, and eventually they fall back against the pillows.

‘God,’ she whispers, running her hand through his hair. ‘Oh, God, Mike, I love you.’

He kisses her forehead, damp now with sweat. ‘I love you too.’

 

He puts on a suit, a navy blue one she'd bought him and had tailored. He likes it, and she’s always said it makes him look dashing. She's in the French blue dress and he loves the way the high waist emphasizes her slimness. She's so beautiful and he's so lucky.

He usually feels uneasy with all the stuff that comes along with dating someone like her, even if it's only a faint undercurrent, but here, now… he feels at ease, completely, for the first time. He doesn't know what's changed, just that something has. He's glad of it. 

‘Ready to go?’ she asks, appearing from the bathroom. 

‘Ready,’ he says, and sketches a bow, offering her his arm. She takes it with a laugh and kisses his cheek. 

They walk arm and arm to the terrace, Liz guiding him. It's a beautiful night, a perfect one, and they're seated at a small table overlooking the ocean. 

‘This is amazing,’ he tells her.

She smiles at him, her face illuminated by candlelight. ‘I love it here. I'm glad we can be here together.’

‘Me too, honey,’ he tells her, and she smiles again. The waiter comes and before she can speak he orders a bottle of champagne. He never drank the stuff before getting together with Liz but he likes it, and besides--this is a celebration. 

‘Champagne?’ she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

He grins. ‘Time to celebrate bein’ here,’ he tells her, and she smiles. ‘And our anniversary,’ he adds. 

She laughs. ‘What are you counting as the date of our anniversary?’ 

He shrugs. ‘I dunno, but for over a year now you’ve been makin’ my life infinitely better.’

She beams. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

The waiter returns with the champagne, uncorks it, and pours them each a glass. They order and when he leaves he raises his glass. 

‘To you, Lizzie,’ he says. ‘I love you.’

Her expression is soft as she looks at him. ‘I love you too.’

 

Dinner is great and they finish the bottle of champagne, then have something called Bermuda Gold with dessert. Liz explains it's a loquat liqueur and it is delicious. They finish their dessert and stop by the front desk to put in their breakfast order for the morning, then head back down the path to their cottage.

The bed has been made and freshly turned down. The French doors are open to the ocean below, only the screen doors closed. 

‘I could get used to this,’ he tells her.

She laughs. ‘Me too. I always feel so spoiled being here.’

He steps closer to her, resting his hands on her narrow hips. ‘Can we go to bed?’ he asks hopefully, and she laughs again. 

‘Yes.’

Before she can say anything else, he hoists her into his arms and carries her, giggling, through to their bedroom.


	36. Chapter 36

The week is perfect and golden, unfolding itself slowly. It feels as though they’re in a dream. In fact, she’s had a dream like this before. Right now everything is perfect, perfect, perfect.

They wake up late and make love, then have breakfast on their patio. They go to the beach and swim and lie in the sun, then go back up to their cottage and nap before lunch. They wake and make love again and have lunch at the restaurant on the terrace. They swim again and they have cocktails on the beach, then go back up to the cottage and shower and dress for dinner. They go into Hamilton for dinner some nights and stay at the club for others. Tonight, they are walking along the beach to Mickey’s, the restaurant on Elbow Beach. They’re holding hands, dipping their feet into the surf. He’s cuffed his pants and he’s holding his shoes in one hand; her dress is knee-length and she has her shoes in her other hand.

It’s lovely, walking together on the beach, the sun setting in the distance, her hand held tight in his. _God, I love him_ , she thinks to herself. And how surprising that is to her still, that she could love this man, that he could love her. And how complex he is, too--he’s not just a two-dimensional womanizer. He’s a deeply loyal, compassionate, understanding man. And he loves her.

This week has been restorative. Each time they come together it pushes the horror of what happened a little further away. She’s relieved, and hopes that when they go home in two days she’ll be able to keep a little bit of the peace she’s found here with her.

They reach the restaurant and are seated. Mike orders champagne again--he’s ordered a bottle every night. He said, the first night he did, that he wanted to celebrate. So they have.

Conversation is easy. They speak about their day, the sightseeing they plan to do tomorrow--the Crystal Caves, Gibbs Hill, and Dockyard. They have a delicious meal and the band plays and then they dance, his hand on her lower back, her hand on his shoulder, their bodies almost touching.

‘I love you,’ he tells her. He can so rarely say those words unprompted, even if she knows that he does, and she smiles at him.

‘I love you.’

He runs his hand down her back. ‘You look so beautiful tonight,’ he says, looking down at her, smiling.

‘And you are so handsome,’ she says.

He grins. ‘I can’t wait to get you back to bed.’

She laughs, actually laughs. How nice it is to laugh… ‘Me too. Let’s finish the champagne.’

‘In a minute, honey,’ he says, pulling her closer. ‘I love dancing with you.’

She rests her chin on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

 

The day passes too quickly. They have a driver and they go all over the island. They are on the go all day, from their early morning breakfast to a picnic lunch on the lawn at Gibbs Hill, to beers at the Frog & Onion in Dockyard. It’s a beautiful day. They have perfect weather and by the time they go back to Coral Beach they are exhausted and sunburned.

They order room service after they take showers and then relax with the books they haven’t yet opened. She nestles close to him in bed and turns the page of her collection of Anne Sexton poems. She finds Anne Sexton fascinating, especially as a psychologist and as a woman. She is a writer who touches the soul.

‘What are you reading?’ he asks, closing his book.

‘Anne Sexton,’ she tells him. ‘She’s a poet.’

He kisses her hair. ‘Will you read me one?’

She flips back to one of her favorite poems and begins to read. The last few verses, she thinks, remind her of Bermuda.

_Water so clear you could  
read a book through it.  
Water so buoyant you could  
float on your elbow.  
I lay on it as on a divan.  
I lay on it just like  
Matisse's Red Odalisque.  
Water was my strange flower,  
one must picture a woman  
without a toga or a scarf  
on a couch as deep as a tomb._

_The walls of that grotto  
were everycolor blue and  
you said, “Look! Your eyes  
are seacolor. Look! Your eyes  
are skycolor.” And my eyes  
shut down as if they were  
suddenly ashamed._

He’s silent for a long moment after she finishes reading. ‘That’s beautiful,’ he says at last.

‘It reminds me of the water here,’ she tells him.

She feels him nod. ‘Yeah. Will you read me another one?’

She smiles. She can’t believe he wants to hear poetry, but she’s touched that he’s taking an interest in her interests. She reads another one.

 

They wake up early in the morning and go for a swim as the sun rises. Watching the sunrise from the water is incredible and it just adds to the dreamlike quality of this trip. She can’t believe it’s almost over.

She doesn’t want to go back to New York, though she knows she can’t keep running away. She needs to go back and face what’s happened. She doesn’t want to--she just wants to stay here forever, live here forever, here with Mike in their little cottage by the sea. They could do this, couldn’t they? They could quit their jobs and buy a tiny cottage and live here forever. They could get married and stay here, swim during the day, sail, and… and they could be happy. She would be perfectly happy running away from everything waiting for them in New York and staying here forever with Mike, forever in this dreamland, in this paradise.

But they can’t. Their plane leaves at eleven and they still have to pack. Mike has already swam back to the beach and she’s here in the ocean alone. And all of the sudden, for the first time since their arrival, she feels it hit her. Anger and violation and fear and pain are here again and overwhelming and for a minute she’s afraid that she’ll just sink into the water and drown. She doesn’t want to go back. She doesn’t want to go back.

Was it only last night that they were in bed together reading poetry? _Look! Your eyes are seacolor. Look! Your eyes are skycolor._ The water blurs suddenly and she realizes that she’s crying, weeping, and she closes her eyes and leans back in the water, letting herself float, embracing the weightless feeling because she knows that this is the last time she’ll feel this way for a long, long time.


	37. Chapter 37

She stays out in the water for so long he’s afraid for her. He’d swim out to get her, but she’s too far out and he doesn’t trust himself to swim that far, even in this calm water. Just as he makes up his mind to go in anyway he sees her disappear and then he runs to the water’s edge just in time to see her bob back up and begin to swim to the shore.

He sighs in relief as she finally gets closer, though that relief vanishes when he sees her red eyes. She’s been crying for the first time since they got here, and when she gets out of the water she brushes past him, walking to the chair to get her towel. He follows her, resting his hand on her shoulder. She flinches and he drops his hand as though he’s burned.

‘I need to pack,’ she tells him, facing away from him.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Me too.’

She nods and starts to walk back to their cottage without looking back.

 

They shower and pack in silence and someone from the hotel appears to bring their bags to the waiting car. She gets in first, pressing herself into the corner to keep herself as far away from him as possible.

He thought they’d made progress. They’d made love, they’d connected, he’d thought they’d moved past the horrors of the past few months. That was dumb--it took him ages to move past this, months, years even. In some ways he still hadn't moved past it till he met her. He shouldn’t expect her to feel better so quickly. But he’d thought… 

The ride to the airport is silent and when they arrive, she gets out of the car and thanks the driver before boarding the plane. He doesn’t want to get on the plane. He doesn’t want to leave. It was… the whole trip was exactly what she needed, they needed. And now, going home, they’re going to have to deal with everything.

He’s been able to forget about cheating on her while they’ve been here, but as he climbs the stairs to the airplane it hits him again. He can’t believe he did that. He’s cheated before, of course, but no relationship has ever been as serious as his relationship with Liz, and… she cannot find out about it. Because she would kick him to the curb and he needs her, he loves her, he wants her… 

She is in her seat and her eyes are closed. He takes the seat across from her, buckling his seatbelt before sneaking a glance at her. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap and he thinks she’s meditating, because she breathes in, holds her breath for seven beats, and then breathes out.

The pilot announces that they’ll be taking off. She keeps her eyes closed and he watches her. She looks so sad, he thinks. She looks as though she’s filled with grief. He is, too, and his heart aches for her.

The flight attendant comes around and offers them a drink. He accepts a glass of water and Liz opens her eyes and asks for a glass of orange juice. The flight attendant nods and returns a few minutes later with her glass of juice. She sips it quietly and looks out the window.

‘This was a good trip,’ he offers, wincing at how stupid he sounds. She nods and doesn’t look at him. He tries again. ‘Do you have any other poems you like?’ _Jesus_ , he thinks. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

‘I don’t want to talk right now,’ she tells him, and takes another sip of her orange juice.

‘Okay,’ he says, defeated. He looks down at his glass of water and doesn’t say anything else.

 

Her parents have organized a car to pick them up from the airport and the ride back to her apartment is again silent. When they get back to her apartment, she locks all the doors behind them and then goes to listen to her messages. There are a lot of them, some urgent, some not. She takes notes and he unpacks their stuff and starts a load of laundry. He finishes up and he goes into the kitchen to see her.

_Elizabeth, this is Ben Stone. Could you please give me a call when you have the chance? Thank you._

It’s the last message on the tape and she looks up at him. ‘I should give him a call,’ she says.

‘Okay,’ he tells her. ‘Want me to run out and get lunch?’

‘Thanks,’ she says, offering him a small smile.

He comes over to her and kisses her hair. She stiffens under his touch but then deliberately relaxes.

‘I love you,’ she tells him.

‘Me too, Lizzie.’


	38. Chapter 38

She just feels trapped again the second they get onto the plane. At least her apartment offers some protection and she feels a great relief when she locks the door behind her.

She has a lot of messages--lots from work, a dozen at least from Nicky, one from Lanie Stieglitz’s secretary, saying that she will be testifying on Wednesday, and then one from Ben asking her to call him. When Mike leaves to get lunch she does.

‘Stone,’ he says, sounding absentminded when he picks up the phone.

‘Hello, Ben, this is Liz,’ she says, feeling awkward.

‘Elizabeth,’ he says, his voice almost a sigh. It’s clear she has his full attention now. ‘I’m so sorry, again. Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ she says, tensing. ‘You asked me to call you?’

‘Yes,’ he says, clearly settling down to business. ‘Paul and I spoke with Nurse Gregg. She said that she had nothing to do with Miss Perkins’ rape.’ He pauses. ‘Do you think that your patient would come forward?’

Her heart sinks. Confronting Diane… sharing her experience… she feels so guilty for everything she put Diane through, but how can she see her now? She knows that she has to.

‘I don’t know,’ she admits, knowing what he’ll ask next.

‘Can you talk to her? See what she says.’

‘I’ll go tomorrow,’ she tells him.

‘Thank you,’ he says, then pauses again. ‘Elizabeth, I--I hope that you’re all right.’

She hears the door open and close. Mike is home. ‘Thank you. I’ll come in after I speak with Diane.’

‘Thank you, Elizabeth,’ he says.

‘Goodbye,’ she says, and hangs up.

Mike comes into the room and she looks up at him.

‘Talk to Stone?’ he asks.

She nods. ‘He told me they spoke to the nurse, that she said that he did it on his own with Diane. So Stone wants me to talk to her.’

‘Are you going to?’ he asks her, his voice carefully neutral.

She nods. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘You sure you’re up for it?’ he asks.

Fury flares suddenly: a surprise, not a welcome one. ‘I’m the psychologist here, not you,’ she snaps. ‘I think I’m far more qualified to say what I am and am not ready to do!’

‘Lizzie, that’s not--’

She walks out of the room, brushing past him angrily, and closes and locks the door to her bedroom behind her.

He doesn’t come after her, or try to talk to her. She curls up on her bed and clutches a pillow to her stomach. She closes her eyes.

 

She must have unlocked the door at some point because she opens her eyes in the middle of the night to find him in bed with her, his arm draped over her waist. Her heart is pounding and she feels the sticky dark threads of a nightmare still holding her down, as though she’s been tied up by the Lilliputians. She takes deep breaths, forcing herself to take stock of where she is. She is at home, she tells herself. She is safe.

She doesn’t want to talk to Diane, to be confronted with the woman she inadvertently injured, to try to persuade her to appear in this trial. Ben did a terrible job with her trial… how can she put Diane through that too?

But how can she not, knowing that he’s out there still, able to hurt more women… 

Mike stirs, pressing closer to her. He’s asleep still, but he’s obviously having an erotic dream as he moves his hand up to caress her breast, pressing himself closer to her. She feels suddenly queasy--she doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to feel this, doesn’t want to be here--she gently frees herself and slips out of bed, leaving the room.

She goes into the kitchen and makes a cup of coffee. It’s 3:27 and she feels certain she’s the only person in the building who is awake. It feels so lonely… she feels so lonely.

How is she going to get through this? How will she be able to move on with her life when she’s here, at home, having to face the repercussions of this every day for the rest of her life? How will their relationship be able to survive? How can she stop feeling so angry and how can she feel desire for him and how how how--

She pours herself a cup of coffee and adds milk from the carton Mike bought this afternoon when he went to get lunch. She stirs her coffee and takes a sip, leaning against the counter.

What’s going to happen next? When will this be over? How will she ever be able to have a normal relationship with Mike again? She’d been dreaming of children… they’d made love this past week and it had been revitalizing, wonderful, as necessary as air… but now, here, how can they find their way back to each other?

She doesn’t know what to do.

 

He joins her a few hours later, tired, sleepy, and unabashedly male as he wanders into the kitchen in only his boxers. She feels like the room is suddenly too small, the walls closing in on her, and she disguises the tension she feels by taking another sip of coffee, looking down at the table. She sees him yawn out of the corner of her eye, watching as he runs his hand through his hair, rumpling it.

‘How long have you been up?’ he asks, and she turns her gaze to him, leaning against the counter.

‘Since three,’ she replies.

‘I thought you were sleeping better,’ he says, his voice very sad.

She shrugs.

He yawns again. ‘When are you goin’ down to Diane’s?’

‘Soon,’ she tells him. ‘I’m just going to take a shower and get dressed.’

‘Want me to drive you?’

She shakes her head. ‘I’ll take a cab.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Uh, I’ll be home late tonight. Have to catch up on things.’

‘Okay,’ she replies, hating how stilted her voice is. ‘I’ll see you when you get home, then. And I’m in court tomorrow, remember.’

‘I love you, Lizzie,’ he offers as she stands, preparing to leave the room.

‘I love you too,’ she says, but her words fall flat. She leaves the kitchen.

 

She dresses casually--a dark green blouse and jeans, no makeup, gold stud earrings. This meeting with Diane isn’t an appointment; she is not her doctor. She is a woman who has experienced the same thing.

Mike knocks on the open bathroom door as she stares at herself critically. Who am I? she thinks, barely recognizing herself. What am I doing?

‘I have to head out in a minute,’ he says, standing stiffly in the doorframe. ‘You gonna be okay?’

She nods, afraid she’ll cry if she speaks.

‘Why don’t we go out to dinner tomorrow?’ he suggests.

She nods slowly.

‘Great,’ he replies, taking a step forward before clearly thinking the better of it. ‘I’ll see you when I get back, Lizzie, I love you.’

She summons up a small smile and watches as he leaves.

 

The doorman on duty hails a cab for her and she heads down to Diane’s apartment on Sullivan Street. She hasn’t been to Diane’s apartment before, but it is in a nice building facing Washington Square Park. She gives her name to the doorman, who tells her that Diane is expecting her. She thanks him and steps into the elevator, pressing the button for Diane’s floor.

Diane’s apartment door is open and her mother is standing in the doorway.

‘Dr. Olivet,’ she says. ‘Thank you so much for coming. I am so sorry--’ she breaks off abruptly.

In all of her life she’s never been at a loss for words… not before this, at least. She nods and Diane’s mother steps aside, letting her into the apartment.

The apartment is excruciatingly clean; one of them, obviously, has been taking out her frustration with a scrub brush. She thinks it must be Diane’s mother, because Diane is in the living room, sitting still, barely moving.

‘Diane,’ she says, and her mother excuses herself as Diane looks up, closing the pocket doors behind her.

‘Dr. Olivet,’ she replies, each word sounding as though she’s underwater. She knows how this feels; this is how she’s feeling again, and how she’s felt… 

‘Please call me Liz,’ she says, sitting down. ‘How are you, Diane?’

Diane lifts her shoulders in a very slow shrug.

‘I want to talk to you about what happened with Dr. Merritt,’ she says, the name feeling evil as she says it. ‘When you were in the hospital and we spoke, you said that he touched you. So I went to go see him too, and he did the same thing to me, and then when I went back he raped me.’ She’s proud that she managed to get through her explanation, her sentence, without her voice wavering, even if it was all in a rush. ‘He used a sedative so that I couldn’t move, and he raped me. I think--I think that he might have done the same thing to you, Diane.’

Diane meets her eyes with difficulty, and when she speaks she sounds earnest, like a recalcitrant student trying to placate a teacher. ‘If I was raped, why don’t I remember? You know, I think I’d remember being raped.’

‘I wanted to shut it out, too,’ she admits. ‘Just act like it was a bad dream. But it won’t go away, Diane.’

‘I think it was someone else. I don’t think it happened to me,’ Diane tells her, though she sounds unsure now.

‘I know,’ she tells her, feeling tears well up in her eyes. ‘I felt like it was someone else too. Like I didn’t exist.’

Diane begins slowly, after a long moment, ‘I--I had these terrible cramps.’

‘What kind of cramps?’ she asks quietly.

‘I don’t know. He was sweating, and all I could think of was: it’s not hot in here. Why is he sweating?’ She pauses. ‘My feet were in the stirrups. I--I tried to get away but, I--I couldn’t. He just left me there,’ she says, and the last few words are said through tears, ‘with my legs up! He didn’t say anything. He just snapped off his gloves.’ She is weeping now. ‘He threw them away and he walked out. He left me there like I was a piece of garbage.’

She doesn’t, can’t, analyze her emotional response to this, to Diane’s words recounting exactly what happened to her. _Not now_ , she tells herself.

‘It wasn’t your fault, Diane,’ she tells her former patient urgently, wanting her to believe her words.

Diane looks away and wipes away tears. She can see the livid scars on her wrists from her suicide attempt in August and she runs her finger along the curve of her own wrist in sympathy. 

‘I think it was my fault,’ Diane tells her. ‘I wore the dress he said he liked. My blue dress.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she says again, more firmly. ‘Diane, he hurt you.’

‘But maybe he thought that I wanted to,’ she says softly.

‘Oh, Diane--’

‘When it happened to you,’ Diane begins carefully, picking her way across the conversation as though she’s avoiding broken glass on the floor, ‘didn’t you think that you’d just given him the wrong signals?’

‘No,’ she tells Diane, her voice strong and certain. ‘Because I didn’t. Because you didn’t, either. There weren’t signals. This wasn’t about sex. It was about power.’

Diane shrugs. ‘I think you’re wrong, Dr. Olivet.’

‘It’s Liz,’ she says softly. ‘And I’m not wrong. Please believe me, Diane.’

‘I’m tired,’ Diane says. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘Diane,’ she says, then stops. She doesn’t know what else to say. ‘Be well.’

Diane gives her a vague smile and she stands up, hovering awkwardly for a moment before leaving.


	39. Chapter 39

He doesn’t want to do this to her, bring up her rape on the stand, especially after his failure to convict the bastard. His conversation with Adam… he’s always respected Adam, has looked to him for guidance when he’s been unsure about how to try a case, or needed advice, but--he disagrees with Adam. Oh, he knows that it’s the right thing to do from a legal standpoint, the right thing to do to win the case, but--Elizabeth isn’t just a psychologist they use, she is a friend, and… and if he admits it to himself, he feels something for her, something that is more than friendship.

When Adam told him, ‘if you want to play nursemaid, wait until after the trial,’ he fought back a flush. He was embarrassed, because in any other circumstance he would have wanted to do that… hell, he still does. But she’s with Logan, for some ridiculous reason. What on earth does she see in him? How can they even hold a conversation? Elizabeth is elegant, refined; she is not the crass sort of bimbo he’s sure that Logan is used to. They’ve had a few meals together, all work related, but on the occasions their conversation has turned personal, he’s been surprised by how well their tastes align. They like the same movies, the same books; she’s mentioned that she often goes to the opera with friends and she likes jazz, as he does. He can’t imagine Logan even reading a book that doesn’t have pictures and short sentences.

That’s unfair, he acknowledges, leaning back in his desk chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Maybe Logan has hidden depths. Or maybe it’s just sex, though if it is, he can’t imagine why she’s with him now, when he’s sure that sex is the last thing on her mind…

But maybe it’s not. Maybe she just wants to put what’s happened in the past. After all, they’ve gone away together.

He was surprised to be told that by Elizabeth’s mother, when he’d called her apartment the day after the trial. Gone to Bermuda, too, of all places… a romantic place, a place where he and his ex-wife had gone on their honeymoon. Why would they go there now? Well, it is secluded, so maybe that’s the only reason. But thinking about Logan, and his reputation, he doubts it.

He thinks about Adam’s words again. Did he suspect that he harbored feelings towards Elizabeth that weren’t strictly professional? Of course he did. Before all of this happened, he was going to ask her out on a date, a proper one, with white linen tablecloths and candles and wine… unbidden, an image of her appears in front of him. He, Elizabeth, and Paul had had dinner together a few months ago at the Italian restaurant near Hogan Place. Paul had excused himself for a minute and it had been the two of them alone, and Elizabeth had leaned forward to say something to him, the silk blouse she wore gaping open a bit, revealing the sheer lace bra she wore… 

_Shit_ , he thinks, and opens his eyes. _Stop it. This is beyond inappropriate._

He sits back up in his chair and looks down at the notes in front of him. They are notes for his cross-examination of Elizabeth… how is he supposed to do this? And how will they ever have a professional relationship again, let alone a personal one? More importantly, how the hell is he supposed to look her in the eyes and say, ‘Doctor, isn’t it true that within the past year you yourself were raped?’ How is he going to be able to do this?

He sets his pen down and stands up. He can’t think about this any more tonight. It’s late; he’ll go home, order something for dinner, and be back early tomorrow morning in time for the trial.

 

He can’t stop himself from thinking how beautiful she looks as she steps up to the witness box, resting one hand on the Bible and raising the other, promising to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She takes her seat and he can’t take his eyes off of her, though he knows he should be taking notes for his cross-examination.

This morning Paul had offered to do the cross if he felt uncomfortable with it, but he’d dismissed his offer. If they have to do this, the least he can do is make it as soft as possible.

Lanie Stieglitz says, ‘Please introduce yourself, share your credentials, and explain why you met with Miss Kostrinski.’

‘My name is Elizabeth Olivet,’ she says, her eyes shifting around the room. This is new. She is an excellent witness, often testifies, and she’s always kept her gaze fixed firmly on the attorney questioning her. ‘I have a psychology Ph.D. from Columbia University. I am a psychologist who consults with the police department and the District Attorney’s office. I was asked by the district attorney to examine Miss Kostrinski and make a determination as to her mental state.’

‘And what determination, if any, did you make?’ Lanie asks.

‘The subject displayed no emotional affect, no disassociation, no mood swings,’ Elizabeth explains, her voice strong and sure.

‘In layman’s terms, please.’

‘She was rational. Her responses were normal and appropriate.’

‘Including shooting Mr. Duff? Was that an appropriate response?’

‘I wouldn't go as far as that,’ she says, for the first time appearing reluctant.

‘You did in your report,’ Lanie says, a hint of triumph in her voice, putting on her glasses to read from the report. ‘“Subject Kostrinski's behavior was appropriate to her stated emotional condition.” She whips the glasses off and stares at Elizabeth. ‘What condition was that, Doctor?’

‘She told me she was in a state of extreme fear,’ Elizabeth replies.

‘Did you believe her?’

Elizabeth says, tentatively, ‘It's never a question of belief.’

Lanie opens the report again and reads from it. ‘Your words, Doctor: “The intensity with which she described her fear was consistent with that exhibited by women who’ve been victims of rape and attempted rape.” Can that intensity be faked?’ Lanie asks, stepping forward to stand only a foot from Elizabeth.

‘It’s possible,’ Elizabeth allows.

‘But Mary Kostrinski, in your opinion, did she believe that she was about to be raped?’

‘Yes,’ Elizabeth looks around as though she’s looking for an escape, and his heart sinks. Not only does he have to drag up her personal trauma, he has to discredit her opinion as a psychologist. How can he do that to her? Hurt her professionally and personally?

‘Thank you,’ Lanie says, and goes back to her seat.

He stands, buttoning his suit jacket as he does. He walks over to the jury and leans against the railing. ‘Uh, Dr. Olivet, do first-hand observations play any part in your psychological evaluation?’

‘Yes,’ she says, meeting his gaze. He drops his after a moment, seeing the resignation and the fear and the anguish there.

‘In other words, there is a subjective element to the evaluating process?’ he asks.

‘To a certain extent. But my professional training allows me to--’

He interrupts her, taking quick glances at her. She drops her gaze as he asks, ‘Doctor, isn't it true that within the past year you yourself were raped?’

‘Objection! Relevance!’ Lanie yells, getting to her feet. Elizabeth withdraws into herself, sitting up straight, dropping her gaze, taking a deep breath.

He looks at the judge and says, ‘Your Honor, Dr. Olivet just stated that her professional opinion can be tainted by her personal experiences.’

He finds himself praying that the doctor will sustain Lanie’s objection and his prayers go unanswered as the judge says, ‘I’ll allow it. The witness will answer.’

Elizabeth’s voice has a slight tremble as she meets his eyes and says, ‘The answer is yes.’

‘And do you recall what your emotions were after the rape?’ he asks her, looking away from her and then back again. The expression on her face… the betrayal there, and the sadness, the way her mouth trembles and… he sees her eyes fill slightly with tears.

‘Yes.’

He hates this, hates himself. Everything else has faded away and it’s just the two of them in the courtroom. He’s forcing her to describe the worst moments of her life, the aftermath, the terror… how can he do this to her, to the woman he loves, the woman he thinks of as a friend? ‘Please describe what they were.’

Her voice shakes. ‘I felt what most people feel: Anger, rage.’

‘Any feelings of vengeance?’ he asks, relentless in his questioning.

‘Yes.’

‘Could these feelings of anger and vengeance influence your evaluation of Miss Kostrinski's behavior?’

She swallows and admits, ‘Possibly,’ unwilling to give him any more than the bare minimum he requires from her.

‘Thank you,’ he says, turning away from her at last, finally able to look away from the pain on her face, her expression of resentment at his perfidy.

He hears the judge say, ‘You’re excused, Dr. Olivet. Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.’

He doesn’t look back at her while he gathers his things, waiting until he sees her leave out of the corner of his eye to look at Paul, whose face holds compassion--for him or for Elizabeth, he’s not sure.


	40. Chapter 40

He finally makes it home at ten o’clock. He tried to get back earlier--she was testifying today and he was sure she’d want some support--but once again he’s stuck at the precinct. Last night he didn’t get home till 1 am and she was asleep, the pillow barrier in place once again. 

She’s asleep again when he gets home, he sees. She looks worn out; her face is drawn and there are dark circles underneath her eyes. The prescription bottle with her sleeping pills is on her nightstand, with one half of a carefully cut pill remaining next to the bottle. He steps over to her and reaches down to feel her pulse, just to be sure. She’s fine and he feels stupid--she’s not going to do something like that--and heads into the bathroom to shower and change.

When he emerges he looks over at her again. She’s still sleeping soundly and she hasn’t moved. He goes to pull another blanket over her and as he does he notices the copy of that poetry book she was reading when they were in Bermuda. He picks it up, making sure to mark her place, and tucks the blanket around her.

He’s not ready to go to bed yet, even if he is exhausted from work. He heads into the kitchen to grab a beer and as he opens the fridge he realizes he’s still holding her book. He sets it face down to keep her page, thinking that maybe he’ll figure out what she’s thinking. She said, after all, that this poet “touched her soul,” whatever that meant.

He opens the beer and picks the book up again, heading into the living room. He settles down on the sofa, takes a swig of his beer, and opens the book.

She was rereading the poem she read him in Bermuda.

_Look! Your eyes_  
are seacolor. Look! Your eyes  
are skycolor. 

He liked those lines, he’s not sure why, but he did. He finds himself reading the next poem, “Song for a Red Nightgown.” She has a red nightgown he bought her for Valentine’s Day this year, a really sexy, slinky one… he drags his mind back to the poetry, reading this poem, which makes him slightly uncomfortable--he doesn’t get most of the references and he hates feeling dumb. What the hell is Schiaparelli pink?

The next one, too, is strange and disturbing--“Loving the Killer.” He’s glad it’s about a hunter and not a murder, but the images are grotesque--sex and death. Liz would probably tell him what it meant, if he asked, but he feels embarrassed reading these poems, hell, reading poems in general. He flips to the next page and reads the next poem, then reads it again.

 _Shit_ , he thinks. And, _this is Lizzie._ And, _what the fuck did I do?_

_She is more than that. She is your have to have,_  
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.  
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony. 

And a later verse, one about children--

_She has also carried each one down the hall_  
after supper, their heads privately bent,  
two legs protesting, person to person,  
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep. 

If he closes his eyes he can picture it so clearly it seems to be a memory instead of a figment of his imagination. Lizzie with their child, auburn-haired like her, sleepy, wrapped in a fluffy white towel after a bath, their heads bent together. He can almost hear the soft croon of her voice, can see the way she nuzzles their child’s head. He can see her look up and catch his gaze; he can see her soft, shy smile.

And the beginning, the part about the mistress and the part about the wife--except they’re both about her, she is as real as a cast-iron pot and she is a luxury, an exquisite luxury. 

_She is all there._

And she is, she is there, all there for him and only him, and even if now she can’t be right now… why did he have to go looking for something else? She deserves better than that. But not only that… he made a promise to her. Not overtly, and nothing like marriage, but when they started their relationship for real they promised to be true to each other. He made her a promise and he reaffirmed that every time they kissed, every time they made love.

What a shit he is, he thinks. She has given him everything, everything, everything. How can he stay in this relationship knowing how badly he’s let her down, even if she never finds out?

He can never tell her. That’s not to his credit, he knows. His reasons for keeping this a secret have nothing, or very little, to do with what she’s going through now. No, he’s shit scared she’d just kick him to the curb, cut him out of her life, and he could not bear that.

He loves her. He wants to be with her always, but not only that--he wants her. He needs her. He desires her. He wants to have her and possess her and make her his, always, this amazing woman who, for some reason, loves him. This woman, his Lizzie, who wants to be with him forever, who has told him that time and time again, who said that yes, she wants children with him… 

He never tells her that he wants her, needs her, forever. Has he ever said it? Has he ever said forever? He can’t remember. But he should say it, he needs to say it, she needs to know that he’s here, he’s with her forever if she’ll have him…

He wants to give her everything, he wants to give her the world, but how can he do that when he can’t even give her the only thing she needs--his loyalty?

_She is so naked and singular._  
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.  
Climb her like a mountain, step after step.  
She is solid. 

She is. She is solid even now in her fragility, even after what’s happened to buffet her, to batter her. She is not broken. She is--

She is everything. She is the woman he loves; she is his heart. How the fuck could he ever have done something so stupid? How could he ever, ever do something that would mean he’d lose her forever?

How could he do that to her?

He closes the book and stands up. He’d completely forgotten about his beer, but he doesn’t want it any more. He goes into the kitchen and empties the bottle in the sink. He goes back into their bedroom.

She is still asleep. She’s turned over in bed and curled up tight, protecting herself. He rubs a hand over his eyes, suddenly tired. He puts the book on her nightstand and climbs into bed beside her. The pillow barrier isn’t up tonight but he doesn’t want to invade her space, doesn’t want to hurt her. He looks up at the ceiling and prays, _Please, please don’t let her ever find out. Please. I’ll make it up to her, I promise._

He doesn’t know if anyone is listening, but he hopes someone is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem extensively quoted is "For My Lover Returning to His Wife" by Anne Sexton.


	41. Chapter 41

Mike is asleep by the time she leaves the house. She has an appointment with Rebecca, then has to go downtown sometime soon and meet with Stone and Robinette and tell them about her meeting with Diane. She doesn’t want to see them, especially Stone, now… 

How dare he, she thinks again. How dare he do that to her. Yes, she thought that his line of questioning was a possibility if anyone else had been cross-examining her--Robinette, McCoy, hell, even Donnelly. But she didn’t think that Stone would have--

She shakes her head slightly to clear it and steps into the coffee shop near Rebecca’s office. She used to come here every morning when she worked in Rebecca’s practice, but the interior has been redone and the employees have changed over the past five years. She orders a hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream and finds a seat in the back, with clear sightlines of the door.

She’s very early for her appointment, but she didn’t want to stick around her apartment and have to explain yesterday’s testimony to Mike. He’s already furious enough with Stone; she doesn’t want him to go down and confront him. She can handle things herself.

Besides, Stone did what she expected, even if she didn’t expect him to ask her those questions. He was doing his job, just as she was doing hers, trying to get justice for her patient…

She looks down at her hot chocolate. The whipped cream is melting out of the fluffy white peaks, seeping into the hot chocolate. She raises the drink to her mouth and takes a sip; it is sweet, almost too sweet, though the sugar rush helps her get a grip on her straying thoughts and emotions.

She doesn’t know what to do next in regards to Mike and their relationship. She has no idea how long it will take before she is ready to resume their intimate life again. Last week was such a relief, such a joy, but the thought of resuming their activities now that they are home bothers her, makes her heart clench with fear. The thought of losing her autonomy, of giving up awareness and control for even a moment, of having him touch her, let alone inside her… she shudders involuntarily, the hot chocolate slopping dangerously close to the rim of her cup.

It’s not fair to him, she knows. To ask him to wait for her to feel ready, for him to put his life on hold for her… especially because they were able to be together this past week. So she just needs to figure out how to push through the fear and unease. She doesn’t want to lose him, and if they aren’t connecting, she might.

Their relationship isn’t only about sex but sex has certainly been one of the fundamentals of their life together. Removing it from the equation makes everything feel unstable, as though they’re living on a fault line. How long can this go on? How long will he wait for her?

He loves her, she knows, but--

Her hot chocolate cup is empty and it’s time for her appointment. She stands up, leaves a tip on the table, and leaves.

 

‘I want to be intimate with him,’ she says, having explained everything to Rebecca. ‘In theory. But here--I’m not sure I can.’

‘Don’t rush yourself,’ Rebecca says. ‘It will take time for you to be willing to give up the control you’ve worked hard to regain.’

‘But I did, you know. And it was--necessary. It felt wonderful to let go. But--I just--’ she falls silent for a minute. ‘I miss him, Rebecca. I want things to go back to normal, but if they don’t… I’m scared that he won’t be able to wait.’

‘From everything you’ve told me about your relationship, I don’t think that is something to worry about. He of all people understands what you are going through. You need to take some time to heal. Don’t rush things. That can do more harm than good.’

She sighs. ‘I have to tell him about testifying yesterday. How Stone discredited me on the stand… he’s going to find out about it sooner than later.’

‘Well, tell him.’ 

She sighs. ‘I will. I don’t want to, but I have to.’

Rebecca is silent for a long time, forcing her to look up at her. She says, ‘You’ve got to talk to someone, Liz--someone who isn’t me. You said that you love him. Trust him. Talk to him. Give him a chance to listen.’

‘You’re right,’ she acknowledges. ‘You’re right. I do need to talk to him.’

‘Just take your time,’ Rebecca says. ‘Ask him to listen.’

She nods. ‘I will.’


	42. Chapter 42

He manages to come home at a decent hour, carrying an enormous bouquet of white roses and takeout from Melon’s. He heard about her day in court yesterday--he could punch Stone if he had the opportunity, the bastard--and wants to try to make today a little easier for her. Juggling everything, he makes his way up to the apartment.

She’s sitting in the living room, curled up in a slipper chair, the fire burning brightly. She’s writing in her journal and looks up when he steps in, offering him a small smile at the sight of the flowers.

‘There are for you,’ he tells her, and her smile widens slightly. ‘And I picked up dinner from Melon’s.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, folding her pen in her journal. She stands and slowly makes her way over to him, taking the flowers out of his hand, burying her face in the roses. ‘Mm, lovely.’

‘I’ll get dinner ready,’ he says. smiling at her, feeling a little happier now that she looks a little more relaxed. ‘D’you want something to drink?’

‘I’ll get it--I just want some red wine.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

He prepares their food, setting their plates on a tray to bring into the living room. The fire is great, and building it is one of the first things she’s done under her own steam in a long time. He gets himself a beer and puts it on the tray with the rest of their food.

When he returns to the living room, he’s happy to see that she’s put the flowers in a vase on the side table, poured herself a glass of wine, and cleared away the detritus of the day. He sets the tray down on the coffee table and looks at her; she has made an effort, has dressed for dinner in narrow black trousers and a light pink silk blouse.

‘You look beautiful today, Lizzie,’ he tells her, and a shy smile crosses her face again.

‘Thank you. And thank you for the beautiful flowers and for getting dinner.’

He reaches out and squeezes her knee. ‘Anything for you.’

She smiles again and takes a sip of wine, averting her eyes from him suddenly. ‘Listen, Mike, I was in court yesterday and--’

He cuts her off. ‘I already heard about it. If you want to talk, Lizzie, I’ll listen, but don’t feel like you have to explain things to me.’

He sees some of the tension leave her shoulders as she sighs. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first. When I got home last night, though, I just needed to sleep.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I could punch him, though, the bastard.’

She picks up a cottage fry. ‘I knew it was coming. It was the obvious line of questioning.’

‘Still,’ he says. ‘He shouldn’t have--’

‘I don’t really want to talk about it,’ she interrupts. ‘Can we just relax a bit, maybe put the TV on?’

He looks over at her--she’s never suggested they watch TV while they eat--but she’s busying herself with adding ketchup to her burger so that she doesn’t have to answer.

‘Sure,’ he says at last, standing up to grab the remote. He flips through the channels until they finally settle on a rerun of Cheers!

They eat in silence. He glances over at her from time to time; her gaze is fixed on the television, though he doesn’t think she’s absorbing anything. Finally she sets down her empty glass of wine when the episode ends.

‘Can we talk for a minute?’ she asks quietly, turning to look at him. She tucks her legs beneath her and she’s twisting her hands in her lap.

He sets down his beer and shifts to look at her, his heart pounding. Did she find out somehow? Oh, shit, no, no no-- He clears his throat. ‘Sure. What’s up?’

She drops her gaze and begins to twist the ring she wears on her right hand. ‘I loved our trip,’ she says softly. ‘Being with you…’ She twists her ring more agitatedly, though her voice is still very calm. ‘I just--here, I’m not sure--I don’t know that I feel comfortable resuming our--that aspect of our relationship yet--I know--’ she sighs. ‘I know that you are a very vital and virile man… and I know that our relationship isn’t only about sex, but--’ She stops and closes her eyes. 

He is so goddamned relieved it’s not about his mistake it takes a moment to process what she’s said. Thank you, he says anyway to whoever might be listening. He reaches out and rests his hand on hers, stilling her anxious movements.

‘Lizzie,’ he says softy. She opens her eyes and looks at him and the worry and sadness there almost breaks his heart. ‘Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay.’

‘I understand if--’ she begins, her voice wobbling.

‘No,’ he interrupts her, squeezing her hands. ‘We’re in it for the long haul, you and me, Lizzie,’ he tells her. ‘The ups and the downs. Right now we’re in a down period but that’s okay, babe, it’ll pass, it’ll be all right.’

‘Are you sure?’ she asks him softly, her gaze fixed on their hands now. ‘That you don’t mind waiting--’

‘Lizzie,’ he says again, firmly. ‘It’s okay. It’s fine.’

‘Okay,’ she says, and turns her hand so that she can squeeze his. ‘Thank you, Mike.’

‘I love you, honey,’ he says, squeezing back. ‘I love you forever.’

She meets his eyes and offers him a very small smile. ‘I love you too,’ she says, then yawns. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

‘Don’t apologize. Want to go to bed?’

‘Mm. I want to take a bath first.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll clean up, okay?’

‘Thank you,’ she says, squeezing his hand again before standing up. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too,’ he says, and she offers another small smile before she heads down the hall to their bedroom.

 

He takes his time cleaning up, making sure everything is just the way she likes it. Finally everything’s clean and locked up for the night and he heads back to their bedroom.

She is out of the bath and on the phone with her mother, he gathers, as he gets ready for bed. She’s sitting up in bed, doodling in her datebook as she talks, agreeing to something, telling her she’ll get back to her. As he steps into the bathroom to change, he hears her tell her mother she loves her and then hears her hang up the phone.

When he emerges from the bathroom she is waiting up for him.

‘That was my mother,’ she says. ‘She wanted to know what our plans were for Thanksgiving. I completely forgot that it’s next week.’

He sighs and runs his hand over his eyes. ‘Me too. Uh, I’ve gotta work. I have the early shift, though--6 in the morning till 2 p.m. I have Christmas off, though.’

‘Ah,’ she says, looking down at the datebook in her lap. ‘Okay. So--you’d be back for dinner.’

‘Uh, I should be,’ he says, climbing into bed next to her.

‘Why don’t we host Thanksgiving, then? We could have people over at five for cocktails and then have a proper dinner… we could invite my parents, Peter and Miranda, your brother and sister and their families… Nicky, of course, and maybe Diana Hawthorne too, she and McCoy broke up during the trial…’ she trails off and looks at him. ‘What do you think?’

‘You sure you’re up to it?’ he asks gently. ‘Cookin’ and entertainin’...’

‘I want to try,’ she says, her voice firm.

He nods slowly. ‘Okay. Uh, Pete and his family spend Thanksgiving with his in-laws, but I bet Katy, Pat, and Tommy would be up for comin’.’

‘Great,’ she says, and scribbles something in her datebook. ‘Well, I will call people tomorrow, then, and order a turkey and things…’ She writes more things down. ‘I think this will be good, getting things back to normal…’

‘It takes time,’ he says, trying to tell her as gently as possible.

‘I know,’ she says, a hint of frustration in her voice. ‘But this is a good step.’

‘Okay.’ He leans over and turns out his light. ‘I’ve gotta get in early tomorrow,’ he says.

She nods absentmindedly, making a list of things in her book. ‘Okay. I’ll make dinner tomorrow,’ she tells him. ‘Just call me when you’re heading home.’

He reaches out and rests his hand on her forearm; she stops writing and looks at him. ‘Good night, babe,’ he says.

She offers him a small smile. ‘Good night. I love you.’

She turns back to her listmaking and he sighs silently before lying down next to her and going to sleep.


	43. Chapter 43

She’s slowly resuming her normal schedule, though she’s not quite there yet. When she began consulting with the police and with the DA’s office, she formed her own practice. Earlier this year, when her duties started picking up, she asked a colleague and friend, Lindy Allen, to join her practice. Lindy was a relatively new practitioner--in the years since they received their Ph.D.s she’s focused more on academia--but she is a good doctor and she’s been a great help with meeting with her patients when she has to go down to the precinct or be in court. And now, of course, Lindy has taken on her patients while she recovers, and while she’s seeing one or two of them now--Julie Atkinson, for one, and another longtime client named Nora Berry, a friend of a friend of Miranda’s, as well as others--seeing some of her other clients, particularly the men, is not a good idea.

Today she has three appointments--one this morning, with Nora, and two in the afternoon: one with Julie Atkinson and the other with a young woman, a former student of Lindy’s. She has plenty of time to phone their guests for Thanksgiving and ask Nicky if he can meet her for lunch.

She hasn’t seen him since it happened. They’ve known each other almost their entire lives and he knew without her having to tell him that she just couldn’t see him yet. They’ve spoken on the phone almost every day, but he didn’t want to push her and she didn’t want to see him and see his shock, his anger at the situation, his pain… it would just bring it home to her.

But now… now, she is starting to feel a little better, and more than that--she misses him. So when Mike leaves for the precinct, and after she’s spoken to her mother about Thanksgiving, she picks up the phone and calls him.

‘Hello?’ comes his very familiar voice.

‘Hi, Nicky, it’s me,’ she says.

She can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Lilibet, my love, how are you today?’

‘Do you want to meet me for lunch?’ she asks. ‘At Neary’s?’

‘Yes,’ he says immediately. ‘Of course. What time?’

‘Hmm, I have appointments at 10 and at 2, so 11:30?’ she suggests.

‘Perfect, darling. I can’t wait to see you,’ he says. ‘How are you today?’

‘Well, busy, a bit. Appointments, but also--Mike and I are hosting Thanksgiving this year. Can you come? We’re inviting Mike’s sister and brother-in-law and their four-year-old son, and my parents and Peter and Miranda, and I thought I’d ask my friend Diana Hawthorne--remember her?--too. What do you think?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ he tells her, and she smiles.

‘Good. And can I prevail upon you to come over early and help me cook? Mike has to work until two, so I thought we could do cocktails at five and dinner at seven.’

‘Perfect,’ he says, ‘I’ll be there bright and early. Let’s decide on the menu at lunch.’

‘Perfect. Thank you, Nicky.’

‘Thank you, darling. See you soon.’

She hangs up the phone, still smiling, feeling, to her surprise, excited about the holiday.

 

She finishes getting ready and then heads down to her office on 57th and 1st. She likes the neighborhood--Sutton Place is leafy and quiet. She likes her office, on the second floor of one of the few office buildings in the area. She takes the subway and walks over to her office, arriving just after Jessica, her secretary. They greet each other and have a cup of coffee together, going over the coming weeks’ schedules, before she heads back to her office.

She worked on a list last night of everything she needs to do for Thanksgiving. She’s crossed a few things off this morning-- _Call Mummy, Call Nicky_ \--but she still has a fair number of things on the list. She opens her notebook and looks at it.

_Call Miranda  
Call Katy, offer guest room  
Menu  
Grocery list  
Polish silver  
Tablecloth, napkins cleaned  
Buy candles  
Buy flowers  
Buy wine--case of champagne, 6 bottles red, 6 bottles white  
Make sure bar is stocked--vodka, gin, Bushmills, Famous Grouse  
Make sure plenty of ice for cocktails  
Buy ice for ice bucket  
Chill martini glasses  
Placecards  
Toys for Tommy_

She crosses off a few more things, _Call Miranda_ and _Call Katy_ \--her mother is calling Miranda and Mike will call Katy today. She and Nicky will work on the menu at lunch. Mike told her this morning that he’s never hosted Thanksgiving so he’ll defer to her judgement and Nicky’s in regards to the menu. When she gets home from work she can call the liquor store and order the wine and anything else she needs. She’ll ask Julie after her appointment to send over flowers on Wednesday--an arrangement for the table, one for above the fireplace, something small for the guest room. She’ll deal with the table linens today too and polish the silver this weekend. Once the menu is decided, she can order groceries from Citarella.

Good, she thinks, pleased with herself and feeling a little frisson of excitement. She loves to entertain and hasn’t done much recently. This will be good.

 

Her appointment goes well and when it’s over she heads over to Neary’s, half a block away. It’s a lovely old restaurant--simple, excellent food, an excellent example of a type that is fast disappearing. The proprietor, Jimmy Neary, greets her with a smile--she is here often--and says that her friend is here.

She looks back into the dim restaurant and spies Nicky, who is reading the menu. She thanks Jimmy and goes back to his table. He’s seated in the chair, leaving her the booth, which she prefers. He hears her footsteps as she approaches and stands up to greet her, hugging her tight. To her relief, his embrace is not stifling, or uncomfortable, and she hugs him back before they release each other.

‘Hi, Lilibet,’ he says easily, as though they’ve only gone two days without seeing each other as opposed to almost three months. ‘So, how about we order and then work on the menu?’

‘Perfect,’ she says, feeling herself relax for the first time since Bermuda. As she sits down, she meets his eyes and smiles at him. He returns her smile.

‘You look good, Lilibet,’ he tells her, and her smile widens.

‘Thanks, Nicky. You too.’

As she picks up her menu, he reaches out and rests his hand on hers. ‘I love you, you know.’

She meets his eyes again; this time, there’s a solemnity in his gaze. ‘I know,’ she says seriously. ‘I love you too.’

He squeezes her hand then releases her. ‘Now, I think I’m going to start with the smoked salmon and then have the scallops. What about you?’

‘Claims on the half shell,’ she says, studying the appetizers, ‘mm, then the sole, I think.’

‘Wonderful,’ he says, repeating their order to the waitress who appears. ‘And a bottle of Riesling, too, please.’

Their orders in, he leans back and looks at her. ‘So, Thanksgiving dinner,’ he says. ‘You and Mike are serious.’

‘You know that,’ she says, rolling her eyes at him. ‘We’ve been together for more than a year.’

‘Yes, I know,’ he tells her, sticking his tongue out at her. She giggles. ‘But hosting Thanksgiving dinner is a big step. I’m proud of you.’

‘Thanks,’ she says, half sarcastic.

‘Well, we will make sure it’s wonderful,’ he says, pulling out a notebook. ‘Let’s go over dinner. I’m assuming it will be formal but not quite black tie, am I right?’

She nods. ‘I don’t think we can do black tie with a small child.’

He chuckles. ‘I agree, though when you and Mike have kids, I’m sure black tie will be appropriate. I can’t imagine any child of yours being anything other than well-mannered.’

She feels a faint flush start to spread across her cheeks. ‘Yes, well…’ Thankfully she is not forced to respond as their appetizers are placed in front of them, followed by the ritual of wine pouring. Nicky tastes the wine, pronounces it delicious, and then glasses are poured for them both. When the waitress leaves, Nicky raises his glass.

‘Here’s to you, darling,’ he says. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ she says, touching her glass to his. ‘Thank you, Nicky.’

‘So, how about we have a roasted pumpkin soup to start,’ he muses. ‘And for the main course, turkey, naturally.’

‘Let’s do those roasted potatoes you made last winter, remember?’ she suggests. ‘The ones with the potatoes split in half and cooked in butter… and the oyster stuffing, and homemade cranberry sauce… what else?’

‘Brussel sprouts with cider and bacon,’ he says. ‘Maybe those crescent rolls instead of cornbread. They’re lighter--and easier too, if we cheat and buy the Pillsbury ones.’

She chuckles. ‘Good idea. And dessert?’

‘Chocolate cake might be too heavy. We could do a cheese plate, but I think we’ll want cheese and foie gras, et cetera, during the cocktail hour. Maybe a tarte tatin?’

‘Perfect,’ she says, and he dutifully records that. ‘That sounds wonderful. Can you write me a grocery list, and I’ll order from Citarella?’

‘No, let’s do the shopping together on Tuesday and have them deliver,’ he suggests. ‘That way we get the best of everything.’

‘Good idea,’ she says. ‘Well, I’ll preorder a turkey, but we can pick up everything else then.’

‘Perfect,’ he says, and smiles up at her. ‘I’m excited.’

‘Me too,’ she agrees, and it is true, and such a relief. ‘Me too.’


	44. Chapter 44

He calls Katy during his lunch break.

‘Hi, how are you?’ she asks, then says, ‘Tommy, Mama is speaking with Uncle Mike. Go turn on the television for a minute.’

‘Uncle Mike!’ he hears his nephew shout. ‘Hi, Uncle Mike!’

‘I’ll tell him you said hello. Put on Mr. Rogers or something,’ she suggests, and he hears the television turn on. ‘Sorry, Mike. How are you--how’s Liz doin’?’

‘Good. Listen, what are you guys doin’ for Thanksgiving?’

His sister sighs. ‘I have no idea. Pete wants us to come out but even if I wanted to see his in-laws again--which I don’t--there’s no way I could manage the train with this little rascal. I’m too wiped out to cook, so I guess we’re gonna go out, or Pat can figure something out…’ 

‘So that’s why I’m callin’, actually,’ he says when she trails off. ‘Liz wants us to host Thanksgiving this year… I have to work till two, so we’d have cocktails at five and dinner at seven. We know it’s kind of late for Tommy, so we’d really like it if you guys stayed over. I can pick you up.’

There’s a beat of silence, then, ‘Yeah, that would be great, Mike, thanks. And please thank Liz. We’ll take a cab though--if you’re workin’ till two it’ll be too much.’

‘Great,’ he says, pleased.

‘Who’s coming? I’m assumin’ it’s pretty formal.’

‘Yeah, not black tie or anything but she did say that it would be fun to dress up. Uh, it’s gonna be small. Me and Liz, her parents, her godparents, you guys, and then her friend Nick and a colleague of ours, Diana.’

‘Great,’ Katy says, though her voice is a bit tentative. ‘And her family? They’re… okay?’

‘They’re really nice,’ he answers. ‘Good people. Not snobby.’

‘Good,’ she says, and he can hear the relief in her voice. ‘Well, I’ll tell Pat, and we’ll see you on Thursday. Tommy’s bedtime is around six, six thirty, so we’ll be able to have dinner with just the adults.’

‘Great,’ he says again. ‘Well, we’ll see you Thursday. I’ll tell Liz.’ He pauses, then says, ‘I’m glad you’re comin’.’

‘Me too,’ she says. ‘See you Thursday.’

‘See you,’ he says, and hangs up.

He leans back in his seat. It’s Lennie’s turn to grab sandwiches and no one else is around. It’s a quiet day, surprisingly, so maybe he’ll have a chance to head home early. He hopes so.

He was surprised by Liz’s eagerness to host Thanksgiving dinner. She’s had a tough week and the holidays are always more stressful than usual. But maybe it’s a control thing--if they have it at the apartment, then she controls the invite list, the food, and she can surround herself by the people she cares about… it’s easier. He can understand that.

But hosting Thanksgiving is a lot of work, so he’s surprised that she’s feeling up to it, considering how tired she’s been, how early she crashes into sleep. She used to fall asleep gently, peacefully; now it’s as though she falls into it as though she’s falling off a cliff, hitting the ground hard.

He’s glad that she’s asking her friend for help cooking and preparing. Even if he wasn’t working until two, he wouldn’t be much help. He doesn’t know how to polish silver or fold napkins or even do any of the finicky cooking he’s sure her menu will entail. He can make the cocktails and greet people and help keep the conversation going.

He’s touched that she wanted to invite Katy and Pat and Tommy. She and Katy really seem to like each other, which is great, and Lizzie gets along with Pat too. And Tommy… Lizzie is wild about Tommy just as he is about her. He calls her Auntie Liz and every time he says it she breaks out into a grin filled with a wild joy he almost can’t bear to see. They haven’t seen him for a while, not since it happened, but he hopes that she’ll be just as happy to see Tommy as she always has been.

She wants kids, he knows. She doesn’t talk about it and it’s clear she only doesn’t because she doesn’t want to pressure him. But she wants kids, and she wants to get married, and before getting together with her that would’ve scared the hell out of him, he would have been running away as fast as he could, but now… well, he wants a life with her. He can’t imagine his life without her in it. But they’re going through a tough time right now, and besides--right now he doesn’t deserve her. He’s gotta make it up to her before he can ask her to marry him, before they can start a family.

He runs his hand over his eyes. He’ll fix it. He has to.


	45. Chapter 45

She wakes up when he does on Thanksgiving morning. He’s groggy, never doing well with early mornings, so while he showers she goes and makes him coffee and breakfast. He doesn’t have time for much, so she toasts a bagel for him and slices an apple, which he wolfs down before leaving, giving her a kiss as he goes.

When he’s gone, she sits down at the kitchen table and makes a list of everything that needs to be done. Lists are so helpful, especially now--if she can lay out everything that is supposed to happen she doesn’t need to worry, she can just relax.

Set the table--tablecloth, napkins, silver  
Flowers on the table  
Chill champagne and white wine  
Chill vodka  
Set out Mike’s suit  
Set out dress  
Turn down bed in guest room  
Set up bed for Tommy in guest room  
Check guest room and my office: towels, flowers, water carafe  
Cook!

She starts another list.

Potatoes--one hour--in at 5:30  
Turkey--six hours--in at 12:30  
Brussel sprouts--one hour--in at 5:30  
Crescent rolls--twenty minutes--in at 6:30  
Oyster stuffing--in turkey  
Cranberry sauce--heat up--6:30  
Tarte tatin--made already  
Take cheese out of fridge--4

 

They’ve decided against the soup--they will have a substantial spread for the cocktail hour and so much to eat for dinner that it makes sense to skip it. They have a selection of cheese, foie gras, crackers, nuts, chips, and caviar… she thought that would be a nice treat, a splurge, something to mark this occasion.

She’s feeling better.

Not a hundred percent better, not yet, and barely even fifty percent better, but… she thought it would be so long before she could entertain again, let alone host a dinner, and she’s been excited, and happy, and she hasn’t had any nightmares all week.

So, this is a celebration of sorts. She’s splashed out. She bought half a case of Chateau Margaux, a case of grand krug champagne, and half a case of white burgundy. She’s bought beluga caviar. She’s bought an enormous turkey, so that there will be plenty for leftovers and enough to send down to the doorman on duty. It will be a good dinner.

She stands up and pours herself another cup of coffee, more for the taste than the caffeine. For the first time she doesn’t feel tired--she feels invigorated, excited about the day. It’s a relief.

Nicky will be here at nine; Mike will get home by three; Katy, Pat, and Tommy will be here at four thirty; everyone else will be here at five. It will be a busy day, but a good one.

She still needs to decide what to wear, so she brings her coffee into her bedroom. After, she thinks she’ll start on some of the prep work for dinner. She can prepare the Brussel sprouts and the potatoes. The turkey is already dressed and in the fridge, ready to go into the oven. Not for the first time, she’s glad that she had Nicky redesign her kitchen two years ago. It’s a perfect kitchen for her now--an enormous, beautiful Lacanche range with two ovens and a warming drawer and eight burners. It’s usually too much for one person, but it comes into its own when she hosts dinner parties and it will be perfect for when they have children… 

She opens her closet doors and takes a sip of coffee as she looks at her outfits. It’s a formal dinner, but not black tie, so she won’t wear a long dress. She doesn’t want to wear something too tight, either, due to the vast quantity of food they’ll be consuming. Hmm, she thinks, setting her coffee down on the floor. She pulls out a dress, a rich russet colored one. It’s silk, with a fitted bodice and a pleated skirt that flares out at the hips, sleeveless, with wide shoulder straps. It falls just to her knee.

She has many dresses like this. It’s a preferred silhouette, and she had a dozen of these dresses made when she lived in Paris. Four in cotton, in cream, a light blue, a pale yellow, and a light pink; five in silk, in black, navy, forest green, a dark silvery grey, and this russet; and three in bouclé, in black, navy, and a very flattering charcoal. She likes clothes, and likes to feel comfortable and elegant in them. It’s a sort of power, like wearing armor, and she will feel protected if she wears the right thing.

She decides that yes, she will wear this dress, and pulls it out. She brings it into the bedroom, laying it out on the bed. She’ll wear high black heels too, and maybe her pearl pendant earrings. She’ll figure that out later. Or maybe she should wear the grey silk dress? Hmm. She’ll ask Mike what he thinks when he gets home.

Her coffee is getting cold, so she heads back to the kitchen to heat it up. She’ll have something to eat quickly, then start prepping for dinner. It’s only six thirty; she has plenty of time.

 

She settles into a trance as she prepares the food. She feels like she’s provisioning an army; she’s finished the Brussel sprouts and the potatoes by the time the apartment phone rings. She asks the doorman to send Nicky up and she goes back into the kitchen to wash her hands before going to answer the door.

Nicky is carrying the tarte tatin and his clothes in a garment bag, so they don’t embrace until she leads him into the kitchen and he sets the pastry box down.

‘You’ve been busy,’ he says, surveying the kitchen. ‘Happy Thanksgiving!’

She kisses his cheek. ‘Happy Thanksgiving. How are you this morning?’

He sighs. ‘Glad to be here instead of at Mummy’s or Dad’s,’ he admits, running a hand through his hair. ‘Not that either of them wanted me. Mummy because it would give away her age to the “man”--and I use that term loosely--she’s been seeing, and Dad because… well, you know Dad.’

‘Mm,’ she agrees. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be!’ he says, looking at her. ‘I’m so glad to be here with you, Lilibet.’

She grins at him. ‘Well, I’m glad I can put you to work! Although there actually isn’t much to do right now… everything’s all prepped. We just need to put things in the oven.’

‘Well, we have to practice our routine,’ he says, reminding her of their longstanding tradition. ‘Do you want to do the tango or the cha-cha this year?’

She claps her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, no!’

‘What, did you make plans to do something with Mike?’ he asks.

‘No, I forgot to mention it to Mike and Katy and Pat and Diana… we’ll have to skip it this year.’

‘Lilibet, no! We can’t! Isobel and Nick and Miranda and Peter are preparing a Scene--they’d be so disappointed.’

‘Well,’ she says, thinking it over. ‘Well, we don’t need to force anyone, I suppose. And we can do it after dinner, so everyone’s had enough to drink.’

‘Good!’ he says, grabbing her hands. ‘Perfect! So, tango or cha-cha?’

‘Let’s practice both and decide later,’ she suggests. She looks down at her jeans and tshirt. ‘I should probably change, but I’ll just put my shoes on and we can do a dress rehearsal later.’

‘Great!’ Nicky says with enthusiasm. ‘I’m going to put my stuff in the closet and then we’ll practice.’

‘Perfect,’ she agrees, and heads down the hall to her bedroom to get her heels.

 

Mike gets home earlier than she expects, at two thirty. She and Nicky have put the turkey in the oven, and as everything else is ready to go, so they’re practicing the tango again. He’s dipped her and she looks up to see Mike standing in the doorway of the living room, grinning. She straightens up immediately.

‘Mike!’

‘Hey, babe,’ he says, still grinning. ‘Hey, Nick. What are you guys doin’?’

‘What Lilibet forgot to tell you is that for Thanksgiving we always put on a performance. Nick, Isobel, Peter, and Miranda are practicing a Scene, and Lilibet and I always do a dance.’

She looks at him, worried that he’ll be… what? Uninterested, put-upon, frustrated. But he surprises her, as he always does.

‘Sounds like fun,’ he says easily. ‘I hope it’s after dinner though--I could use some liquid fortification if I have to perform.’

She chuckles, surprised. ‘Yes, of course.’

He meets her eyes and she can see how relieved he is that she’s doing something, that she seems relaxed and easy.

‘Katy and I used to do somethin’ like this, actually,’ he says. ‘She’d sing and I’d play the guitar. Pat plays the fiddle--let me call them real quick and ask him to bring it.’

Before she can say anything, he moves to the phone and picks up the receiver, dialing Katy’s number. He turns and smiles at her, then starts to speak into the phone.

‘Hey, Katy,’ he says. ‘Yeah, just got home. So, Liz has just informed me that there’s music and dancing after dinner, that we all contribute. I thought we’d do our old routine, hmm?’ There’s a pause and he smiles again. ‘Great. And tell Pat to bring his fiddle. Great. Any time. See you soon.’ He hangs up and looks back at them. ‘We’re all set.’

‘You sure you don’t mind?’ she asks.

‘Of course not. I feel like all our family gatherings devolved into music.’

‘You surprise me,’ Nicky says. ‘You have many hidden depths.’

She hits Nicky’s chest lightly. Mike says, laughing, ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’ He looks at her. ‘Need any help in the kitchen?’

‘No, but I did want your opinion on what dress I should wear,’ she says, then turns to look up at Nicky. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Take your time,’ he says, walking over to turn off the record player. ‘I’m going to go check on the turkey and maybe pour us some drinks. Mike, what do you want?’

‘What are you guys having?’ he asks.

‘I’m thinking champagne. Lilibet?’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘Great,’ Mike says. ‘Okay, I’ve got to shower and get ready. Katy, Pat, and Tommy are gonna leave soon, so they’ll be here in a bit. Lizzie, want to show me your dress?’

‘Yes,’ she says, and then follows him down the hall.

 

‘This is gonna be fun,’ he says when they enter their bedroom. ‘This is a good idea.’

‘You really think so?’ she asks.

‘Yeah,’ he says, closing the door behind them. ‘It’s good to see you enjoyin’ yourself.’

‘It feels good,’ she admits. ‘And I don’t know how long it will last, but… right now, I just don’t want to think about it. I just want to enjoy it.’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I get that. So, what are you gonna do for your performance?’

‘Nicky and I always dance together,’ she says. ‘This year, we’re deciding between the cha-cha and the tango. Last year we swing danced.’

He grins. ‘Sock hop stuff?’ She nods. ‘You’ve gotta demonstrate that for me.’

She chuckles. ‘All right, we will.’

‘So what were you doin’ when I came in?’

‘The tango.’

‘Do that one tonight,’ he says. ‘It looks great.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, touched.

He steps closer to her. ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks.

She nods, her heart beating faster as he steps even closer to her. He rests his hands on her waist and she looks up at him, her heart racing now, feeling desire flutter low in her stomach. Oh God, she thinks to herself, and he bends to kiss her.

To her surprise and relief, she feels her desire for him grow and she steps forward to press her body against his. He holds her tight and she wraps her arms around his waist, enjoying the warmth of his body, the way he feels… he runs a hand down her back, a gentle caress, and she feels her breath catch in her throat. He feels it, she knows, because he groans and pulls her closer, until the only thing separating them are their clothes.

The phone rings and they break apart, staring at each other as the phone rings again. Blushing, she moves away from him to pick it up. It’s her mother.

‘Hi, darling,’ her mother says. ‘I wanted to check--do you have a record of that Noel Coward song? Someday I’ll Find You? I need it for my scene.’

‘Mm,’ she says, running her hand through her hair, trying to get a grip. ‘I think it’s at Southerly.’

‘All right, I’ll bring Miranda’s copy,’ Mummy says. ‘We’re so excited! When are Mike’s relatives arriving?’

‘Any time now--I need to finish getting a few things ready.’

‘All right, Lilibet, I’ll let you go. See you shortly!’

‘See you soon,’ she says, and hangs up, turning to Mike.

‘Your mother?’ he asks, and she nods. ‘Well, I guess it’s a good thing she interrupted, ’cause we’re runnin’ out of time, but can we resume later?’

‘I think we can,’ she says, her heartrate slowing at last. ‘Can I show you what I was thinking of wearing?’

‘Sure,’ he says, and she goes to the closet, pulling out the grey dress and the russet one. He studies them both and says, ‘If you’re doin’ the tango, shouldn’t you wear red?’

‘I suppose I should,’’ she says, looking at the dress. ‘All right, this one it is.’

‘Great,’ he replies. ‘I’ve gotta shower, but tell Nick I want to see the swing dancing.’

‘I will,’ she says, and he grins, pecking her on the cheek before heading into the bathroom.

 

She and Nicky dress for the evening while Mike is showering. She takes her time dressing--putting on makeup, only a hint, but more than she usually wears at work, and her new perfume. She selects her large pearl earrings. The neckline of her dress is high, a boatneck, and she decides to wear the pearl neckace she received for her eighteenth birthday. By the time she puts on her sheer stockings, Mike has emerged from the bathroom.

‘You look so hot,’ he tells her, and she feels the color rise in her cheeks. ‘And beautiful too,’ he adds quickly, ‘but super sexy.’

‘Thank you,’ she tells him, forcing down the color in her cheeks. ‘I’ll give you some time to change, all right?’

‘I’ll be ready in five,’ he says, turning to look at the clock. It’s almost four. ‘Katy and Pat and Tommy should be here soon, but I really want to see this sock hop thing first.’

‘You’re really interested in this, aren’t you?’ she teases.

He grins. He’s in a wonderful mood today--the best mood he’s been in since everything happened, minus Bermuda--and she’s so glad. ‘I am.’

‘Good,’ she replies. ‘Well, I’ll meet you in the living room.’

‘I’ll be right there,’ he promises.

 

Nicky is in the living room when she enters, looking very dashing in an elegant charcoal grey suit. He’s wearing a very pale blue shirt, and a tie to complement it, and he smiles at her.

‘Lilibet, you look gorgeous,’ he pronounces, and she spins around slowly at his direction. ‘That’s a beautiful color on you.’

‘Thank you,’ she tells him. ‘You look very handsome.’

‘Thank you,’ he says, sketching a bow.

She laughs. ‘Mike wants to see last year’s routine.’

‘Well, I would be happy to oblige,’ he tells her. ‘I haven’t opened the champagne yet, so let’s do our routine when he emerges and then we’ll pop open a bottle of bubbly.’

‘Perfect,’ she says. ‘Let me get the music ready.’

She crosses the room to the built-in bookshelf flanking the fireplace, searching through her record collection for last year’s record. She finds it at last and crosses to the record player, removing the Etta James record and putting this one on, ready for their performance. Just as she sets the needle down, Mike emerges.

He looks extremely handsome, she thinks to herself, just standing and looking for a moment. He’s wearing his beautiful tweed jacket and navy trousers, with a white shirt and a plaid tie that is one of the tasteful ones in his collection.

‘Damn, Mike, you clean up well,’ Nick says frankly, and Mike chuckles.

‘Thanks, Nick. You look well yourself,’ he says, and she crosses the room to him, embracing him. In her heels, she can comfortably rest her chin on his shoulder.

‘You look so handsome,’ she whispers, and she can feel him grin.

‘Thanks, babe,’ he says, and she pulls back. ‘Now, are you two ready for your first performance of the night?’

‘I’m ready,’ Nicky says, moving to the coffee table. ‘Mike, can you help me move this quickly?’

They move the coffee table out of the way and she moves to the record player, ready to drop the needle. She waits for Mike to take a seat and for Nicky to get in position, then she drops the needle over the record. Puttin’ on the Ritz starts to play and she crosses the room to Nicky, taking his hands.

They didn’t practice this earlier today, but it all comes back to her and to him. He’s her best dance partner--they’ve been dancing together for more than twenty years--and she smiles at him as they spin and twist and dip. She grins when Mike wolf-whistles and then, as the song comes to an end, Nicky dips her. Mike applauds, calling out praise, and she straightens up, turning to smile at him.

‘You guys are great at this,’ he says, standing to embrace her. ‘I can’t wait for the real show.’

‘You won’t have to wait long,’ Nick comments, and the apartment phone rings.


	46. Chapter 46

He’s glad that it’s a quiet day and he can leave right at two, having caught up on a ton of paperwork that had fallen by the wayside. There’s zero traffic heading back down to Liz’s and he makes great time, even finding a spot on her side street. He parks and heads up to the apartment.

Her floor is quiet--he guesses most people are out at their second houses for the holiday--but he can hear the faint beat of music. It gets louder as he approaches their door, unlocking it. He steps inside, hearing the music for the first time, a sultry tune. He’s surprised, and he quickly sheds his coat and shoes before heading down the hall to the living room.

Liz and Nick are dancing and he stops and stares. He knows, of course, that they are longtime dance partners and he’s seen them dance together--at Audrey and Charlie’s wedding, for one, a couple times at the nightclub they like--but this is something totally different than that. It is sexy and undeniably erotic and it’s also a work of art. They move well together, he thinks, watching as they move across the room. The music works itself up to a crescendo and Nick suddenly dips Liz, her leg extended, and she meets his eyes.

‘Mike!’ she says, straightening up.

‘Hey, babe,’ he says, grinning at her. She looks good, he thinks, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. He glances over at her friend. ‘Hey, Nick. What are you guys doin’?’

‘What Lilibet forgot to tell you is that for Thanksgiving we always put on a performance. Nick, Isobel, Peter, and Miranda are practicing a Scene, and Lilibet and I always do a dance,’ Nick says quickly.

‘Sounds like fun,’ he says, looking at Lizzie. ‘I hope it’s after dinner though--I could use some liquid fortification if I have to perform.’

She chuckles, obviously surprised. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Katy and I used to do somethin’ like this, actually,’ he says, remembering their childhood, their teenaged years, and family gatherings. Maybe it’s an Irish thing, but even when everyone was drunk, they’d end up sitting around with whiskey, singing, playing their instruments. That’s why he learned to play the guitar, from one of his uncles, for these gatherings. He originally wanted to learn to get approval from his parents, but it quickly became something he loved for its own sake. ‘She’d sing and I’d play the guitar. Pat plays the fiddle--let me call them real quick and ask him to bring it.’

Before she can say anything, he moves to the phone and picks up the receiver, dialing Katy’s number. He turns and smiles at her, then Katy picks up.

‘Hey, Katy,’ he says.

‘Hey, Mike. You home?’

‘Yeah, just got home. So, Liz has just informed me that there’s music and dancing after dinner, that we all contribute. I thought we’d do our old routine, hmm?’ he suggests.

‘Yeah!’ she says with enthusiasm. ‘That sounds great.’

‘Great. And tell Pat to bring his fiddle.’

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Perfect. He’ll love it. We were planning to head up soon, is that okay?’

‘Great!’ he say. ‘Any time. See you soon.’ He hangs up and looks back at them. ‘We’re all set.’

‘You sure you don’t mind?’ Liz asks.

‘Of course not,’ he tells her. ‘I feel like all our family gatherings devolved into music.’

‘You surprise me,’ Nick says. ‘You have many hidden depths.’

Liz hits Nicky’s chest lightly.

He laughs at him. Her friend is funny, he’s always thought so, and this is goodnatured teasing. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’ He looks at her. ‘Need any help in the kitchen?’

‘No, but I did want your opinion on what dress I should wear,’ she says, then turns to look up at Nick. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Take your time,’ he says, walking over to turn off the record player. ‘I’m going to go check on the turkey and maybe pour us some drinks. Mike, what do you want?’

‘What are you guys having?’ he asks.

‘I’m thinking champagne. Lilibet?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ she says.

‘Great,’ he interjects. ‘Okay, I’ve got to shower and get ready. Katy, Pat, and Tommy are gonna leave soon, so they’ll be here in a bit. Lizzie, want to show me your dress?’

‘Yes,’ she says, and then follows him down the hall.

‘This is gonna be fun,’ he says when they enter their bedroom. ‘This is a good idea.’

‘You really think so?’ she asks, tentative.

‘Yeah,’ he says, closing the door behind them, turning to look at her. She looks like she used to, relaxed, comfortable… ‘It’s good to see you enjoyin’ yourself.’

‘It feels good,’ she admits. ‘And I don’t know how long it will last, but… right now, I just don’t want to think about it. I just want to enjoy it.’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I get that. So, what are you gonna do for your performance?’

‘Nicky and I always dance together,’ she says. ‘This year, we’re deciding between the cha-cha and the tango. Last year we swing danced.’

He grins, picturing it. ‘Sock hop stuff?’ She nods. ‘You’ve gotta demonstrate that for me.’

She chuckles. ‘All right, we will.’

‘So what were you doin’ when I came in?’

‘The tango.’

‘Do that one tonight,’ he says, remembering. _God, she looked hot…_ ‘It looks great.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, shy.

He steps closer to her, suddenly filled with need for her. ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks softly.

She nods and he steps closer, resting his hands on her waist. _God, she feels good,_ he thinks, and she looks up at him, her eyes wide. He bends to kiss her.

To his delight, he feels her respond, and not only respond, but take some initiative. She steps forward and presses her body against his and wraps her arms around his waist. He pulls her tight, wanting to absorb her, wanting to have her, and he feels her gasp silently as he runs his hand down her back. This is the most she’s wanted to do here since it happened and he silently thanks God as she continues to kiss him. Just as he’s about to slip his hand under her shirt, the phone rings.

They break apart, staring at each other, and the phone rings again. She blushes and moves away from him to pick up the phone.

‘Mm,’ she says, running her hand through her hair. He watches her, the line of her back, every movement, is just turning him on even more… God, he needs her, he thinks, and she says, ‘I think it’s at Southerly.’ There’s a pause, then she says. ‘Any time now--I need to finish getting a few things ready. See you soon,’ she says, and hangs up, turning to him.

‘Your mother?’ he asks, and she nods. ‘Well, I guess it’s a good thing she interrupted, ’cause we runnin’ out of time, but can we resume later?’

‘I think we can,’ she says, smiling at him shyly. ‘Can I show you what I was thinking of wearing?’

‘Sure,’ he says, and she goes to the closet, pulling out the grey dress and the russet one and bringing them back to him. He studies them both and says, ‘If you’re doin’ the tango, shouldn’t you wear red?’

‘I suppose I should,’’ she says, looking at the dress. ‘All right, this one it is.’

‘Great,’ he replies. ‘I’ve gotta shower, but tell Nick I want to see the swing dancing.’

‘I will,’ she says, and he grins, pecking her on the cheek before heading into the bathroom.

 

He takes his time in the shower and emerges feeling more filled with wellbeing than he has been in a long, long time. This is gonna be a good night. This will be a great night. She seems to be back to herself, and even if it only lasts tonight it’s good progress. 

He’s glad it’s not black tie--he grudgingly bought a nice tuxedo a couple months ago, but he doesn’t like wearing it unless he has to--and exits the bathroom, heading to the closet. She laid out a shirt for him, and his nice navy trousers, but he needs to decide on a jacket and a tie. He stands in front of the closet, debating between the grey blazer or the tweed jacket and settles on the tweed. He finds a plaid tie that’s mostly shades of blue, then gets dressed, picking up his grandfather’s cufflinks from his dresser, carefully fastening them. Finally he is ready, and he bends down to look in the mirror above his dresser, making sure everything is all right. He grins at his reflection, runs a quick hand over his hair, and heads out to the living room.

‘Damn, Mike, you clean up well,’ Nick says frankly, and he laughs.

‘Thanks, Nick. You look well yourself,’ he replies politely, and Lizzie crosses the room to him, embracing him. She rests her chin on his shoulder and hugs him tight.

‘You look so handsome,’ she whispers, and he grins.

‘Thanks, babe,’ he says, and she pulls back. ‘Now, are you two ready for your first performance of the night?’

‘I’m ready,’ Nick says, moving to the coffee table. ‘Mike, can you help me move this quickly?’

He nods, lifting the heavy table with Nick and putting it against the wall. Lizzie is at the record player and he takes a seat on the sofa, waiting for them to begin. Nick is standing in the middle of the room and she drops the needle on the record, then joins him as “Puttin’ on the Ritz” starts to play.

It’s amazing to watch the two of them. They are great dance partners--they move together, as though they’re sharing the same mind. They spin and twist and Nick dips her a couple of times, prompting him to whistle. He sees her grin and as the song ends, Nick dips her again so that her head almost brushes the floor. He applauds, calling out compliments, and Lizzie stands, turning to smile at him.

‘You guys are great at this,’ he says, hugging her. ‘I can’t wait for the real show.’

‘You won’t have to wait long,’ Nick comments, and the apartment phone rings.

‘That must be Katy,’ Lizzie says, stepping out of his embrace to answer the phone. He watches her as she moves, looking gorgeous and undeniably sexy in her deep red dress. It fits her perfectly, the pleated skirt not too full, moving as she does. 

Lizzie hangs up the phone. ‘They’re on their way up.’

‘I can’t wait to meet them,’ Nick says, and he looks at Liz’s friend to see if he’s being sarcastic. He doesn’t appear to be, so he relaxes a bit. 

_Come on_ , he tells himself. _You know Lizzie wouldn’t put up with that_. He does know that, and even if Nick is a bit of a snob he still seems to be good people.

‘They’re lovely,’ Lizzie says with affection. ‘And Tommy is such a sweet little boy.’

There’s a knock at the door and Lizzie smiles at him. ‘Do you want to get it, or should I?’

‘I can,’ he says, and she smiles again.

He leaves the room and heads down the hall to the front door. He notices the decorations she’s put up--nothing much, just some flower arrangements--but it looks very festive. He smiles, then unlocks the door, opening it to reveal his sister, his nephew, and his brother-in-law. They are all red-cheeked from the cold and Pat is burdened with their overnight bag, while Tommy proudly holds a wrapped present.

‘Happy Thanksgiving!’ he says, stepping aside to let them in.

‘Happy Thanksgiving, Mike,’ Katy says, pressing her cheek against his as she steps into the apartment.

‘Happy Thanksgiving,’ Pat says, and they hug each other briefly.

Tommy says, ‘Where’s Auntie Liz?’

He laughs. ‘In the living room. Hold on, let’s hang up your coats and stuff.’

Pat is helping Katy off with her coat, revealing the prominent swell of her stomach. He realizes he hasn’t seen her since they found out she was pregnant, and makes sure to give her an extra hug before taking her coat from Pat. Katy smiles at him, knowing what he meant, and bends with some difficulty to unbutton Tommy’s coat.

‘Liz’s friend Nick is already here--he was helping her cook--so why don’t we say a quick hi and then Pat, I can show you the guest room, okay?’

‘Sure,’ Pat says easily.

‘When is everyone else gettin’ here?’ Katy asks him, standing up and handing him Tommy’s coat.

He checks his watch quickly. ‘Half an hour. Cocktail hour at five, but we can open the champagne before that.’

‘Champagne, huh?’ Pat says, grinning. ‘Fancy stuff. Any chance of a whiskey instead?’

‘Well, I’m the bartender, so I’d say it’s a pretty good chance we have Bushmill’s,’ he tells his brother-in-law.

‘Can we PLEASE GO SEE AUNTIE LIZ NOW!’ Tommy shouts to get everyone’s attention. There’s a moment of silence, then they all laugh, and he leads the way to the living room.

Lizzie is just setting out a tray of snacks when they reach the living room. She looks up and smiles, seeing them, and her gaze drops to Tommy as he runs toward her. She straightens up just in time for him to grab her around her waist, the present clutched in one hand.

‘Auntie Liz!’ he says, and she bends to embrace him. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too, sweetheart,’ she tells him, catching his gaze. She looks happy, he thinks, and once again he’s struck by how content she looks with his nephew in her arms, and how easily Tommy could be their own child. She smiles at him, then looks at Katy and Pat. ‘Hi, you two. Thanks for coming.’

‘Thank you for havin’ us, Katy says as Liz releases Tommy and stands up. ‘I can’t tell you how little I wanted to cook.’

She laughs. ‘Well, I was lucky to have enlisted the services of my friend Nick--he’s just putting a few things in the oven right now.’

‘I’m gonna show Pat the guest room,’ he interjects.

‘Great,’ she says, smiling.

‘Can you open my present now?’ Tommy asks, tugging at Liz’s hand.

She looks down at him, a soft smile on her face. ‘I’d like that very much.’

As Liz and Tommy head over to the sofa, and Katy to one of the slipper chairs, he leads Pat down the hall to the guest room. They pass the door to the kitchen--they can hear the clatter of pots and pans and Nick singing to himself.

‘So Liz made up the guest room for you guys and then the daybed in her office for Tommy. Does that work?’ he asks.

‘Great,’ Pat says. ‘Thanks for havin’ us.’

‘I’m glad you could come. We are, I mean.’ He opens the door to the guest room. ‘You guys are in here. The bathroom’s that door on the left--it connects with Liz’s office, so you’ll have to share with Tommy. I hope that’s okay.’

‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘How’s Liz doing?’

‘Better,’ he says slowly. ‘Well, better since Katy saw her last. Today’s the best she’s been in a while.’

‘Good,’ Pat says, a bit awkwardly. ‘Listen, if you need anything…’

‘Thanks,’ he says.

They’re silent for a moment.

‘I’m just gonna get Tommy’s stuff for tonight out,’ Pat says. ‘I’ll meet you back in the living room.’

‘Great,’ he says, and claps Pat on the back before going back to the party.

 

When he returns to the living room, Nick is there, chatting animatedly with Katy, and Liz and Tommy are on the sofa, looking at what he guesses is her present. Lizzie looks up at him and smiles.

‘Look what Tommy drew!’ she says, and he crosses the room to look at the framed picture in her lap.

‘It’s me and you and Auntie Liz,’ Tommy explains, pointing to the three figures in turn. He catches Liz’s soft expression, one filled with yearning as she looks down at his nephew’s bent head.

‘That’s great, Tommy,’ he says, ruffling his hair. ‘Do you want something to drink? Katy? Liz?’

‘I’ll open the champagne,’ Nick offers.

‘Can I have some ice water, please?’ Katy asks.

‘Can I have a Coke?’ Tommy asks hopefully.

‘No Coke tonight,’ Katy says, and Tommy pouts. ‘Can he have a Shirley Temple, maybe?’

Tommy is all smiles again.

‘Great,’ he says, standing up.

‘I have some toys for you to play with,’ he hears Lizzie say. ‘Do you want to see them?’

‘Yes!’ Tommy exclaims.

He and Nick prepare the drinks, handing them around. Pat returns and joins Liz and Tommy playing with the train set Liz had bought for him. Liz stands up to accept her flute of champagne and goes to talk to Katy. Nick excuses himself to check on the turkey and he goes over to play with Tommy.

Tommy is a great kid--fun, energetic, and kind. If they had kids, he’d want them to be like Tommy. But he has a lot of things to fix before they can start a family. He deliberately sets that thought aside. It’s Thanksgiving, and he has a lot to be thankful for. He hasn’t lost her. He loves her. His family is here and her family will be here soon too, and they’ll have a great dinner and they will all be together.

He’s grateful, especially because he knows he doesn’t deserve this.


	47. Chapter 47

She is relieved that she doesn’t feel that strange mixture of fear and unease and discomfort she felt the last time she saw Katy, when Katy told her she was pregnant. She still doesn’t want to parse her emotional response to Mike’s sister’s happy tidings--because they are happy. Looking at Katy now, she is happy for her, and a little jealous too.

She wants children. She’s wanted children for a long, long time, and she thought that she would have been a mother by now. That’s not the case, and right now she can’t imagine being pregnant, having a child, not after everything that’s happened. Not yet. But being with Tommy, seeing him, this little boy that could be their child… it makes her think, for the first time since everything happened, _maybe I will get a chance to be a mother. Maybe I will still want to be_.

She catches Mike watching her, once or twice, and the expression on his face gives her hope that maybe someday… maybe soon, if she’s ready… he’ll want to start a family.

They spoke about it this summer, once. It’s the only time they’ve really spoken about their future. And now, after everything… well, he’s been patient waiting for her, and he’s been affectionate and he’s desired her, but… she doesn’t know what will happen next. If he will want to have a child with her still.

Katy asks, ‘So, what are you plannin’ to do for tonight’s talent show?’

She drags her mind away from the well-worn track it was on. Time enough to think about it later--she just wants tonight to be a good night.

She smiles back at Katy. ‘Nick and I always dance. We’re doing the tango this year.’

Katy’s eyes widen. ‘Really? You can do that?’ She nods. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’

‘We usually draw straws to see who goes in what order,’ she explains. ‘I’m excited to see what you and Mike are doing too.’

She flaps a hand. ‘Hardly as exciting as the tango.’

‘Well, I’ve never seen Mike play the guitar, so I’m really thrilled.’

‘He’s good,’ Katy says. ‘I’m not just sayin’ that. He’s very talented. And not just because he thought music was a good way to pick up girls.’

She wrinkles her nose at Katy, who chuckles. ‘I’m aware of his past,’ she says drily.

‘Yeah, but you have something no one else has,’ she says. She raises a questioning eyebrow and Katy adds, ‘his heart. He’s crazy about you, Liz. He’s in love with you. I never thought it would happen for him.’

‘Well, he has my heart too,’ she says lightly. ‘I’m glad we met.’

Katy reaches out and touches her hand lightly. ‘Me, too.’

The apartment phone rings and she excuses herself to answer it. The doorman on duty--the new one, Joe--says that the rest of her guests have arrived. She thanks him and asks him to send everyone up, then wishes him a happy Thanksgiving. She’ll bring a plate of food down for him later.

She peeks into the living room as she walks to the front door--Tommy is clutching his Shirley Temple and is perched on the sofa with Katy; Mike and Pat are drinking whiskey by the bar, and Nicky is selecting music. She smiles at the sight in front of her. Despite everything that’s happened, she is lucky, lucky, lucky.

There is a knock on the door and she hurries to open it. Her mother and Miranda are there, with Diana between them, looking a bit shy. Peter and her father are behind them, talking about something, thought they break off when they see her.

‘Happy Thanksgiving!’ she says, stepping back to let everyone in. Her mother embraces her tightly, as does Miranda, and she and Diana kiss each other’s cheeks. Her father hugs her, pressing a kiss on her forehead, and Peter does the same.

Her mother is busy hanging the coats up in the closet and after she closes the front door, she turns to look at her family and friends. Diana is holding a bouquet of roses, which she offers to her.

‘I hope you like them--I wanted to bring you something. Thank you for having me.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ she says, embracing her properly. ‘I’m glad you can be here.’

Her father rests his hand on her back. ‘I brought Mike a bottle of Bushmills,’ he says. ‘Is everyone in the living room?’

She nods. ‘That was very thoughtful of you, Daddy.’

Her father smiles. ‘Well, I wanted to thank you both for hosting. And Miranda brought some--’

‘Beluga caviar!’ she chimes in, brandishing a bag from Russ & Daughters. ‘I thought it appropriate for our celebration!’

‘Thank you, Miranda--great minds think alike!’ she says, ‘I actually bought some myself.’

Miranda smiles at her. ‘Well, let me put this out, all right?’

Before she can protest, she bustles off to the kitchen.

She turns to look at her parents, her godfather, and her friend. ‘Why don’t I do the introductions? Mike’s family is here already. Let’s go into the living room.’

She leads the way. The scene in the living room is much as she left it, although Glenn Miller is now playing and Nicky is gone, presumably in the kitchen with Miranda. Everyone looks up as they walk into the room.

‘Mummy, Daddy, Peter, Diana, this is Katy O’Connor, Mike’s sister, and Pat, her husband, and their wonderful son Tommy.’

‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you,’ Mummy says to them, then goes over to greet Katy, shaking her hand. ‘I’m Isobel Olivet, that’s my husband Nick, and this is our friend Peter deVries.’

‘And Diana is a colleague of ours,’ she adds, looking at Mike, ‘and a longtime friend of mine.’

‘Diana, it’s great to meet you,’ Pat says, crossing the room to shake her hand. He then turns to Daddy and Peter.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Pat,’ Daddy says, extending his hand. Peter echoes him, and Mike comes over. They go through the greetings again and Mike asks if he can get them something to drink.

‘A glass of this, if you don’t mind,’ Daddy says, handing the bottle he brought to Mike. Mike takes one look at it and his jaw drops open.

‘I’ve never seen one of these in real life before,’ he says, showing it to Pat, who is equally shocked.

‘Is it a special bottle?’ she asks.

Mike nods, still staring at the label. ‘Twenty-one year aged Bushmills. They only make two hundred and fifty bottles a year.’

‘Well, let’s open it!’ Peter says, and Mike nods, still stunned. Daddy puts his hand on his back and they exchange a glance before they head over to the bar.

She turns to Diana. ‘Would you like some champagne?’

‘Please,’ Diana says with relief, and she smiles, leading her to the bar to pour her a glass.

 

Tommy is exhausted by the time it’s his bedtime, overwhelmed with so many people. Katy puts him to bed and emerges five minutes later, laughing.

‘I could barely get him into his pyjamas,’ she tells her, picking up her own Shirley Temple. ‘He’s zonked.’

‘He seemed to be enjoying himself,’ she remarks, and Katy grins.

‘That he was. He loves being the center of attention. Gonna be a bit of a nasty shock when the baby comes.’

‘Well, if you need any help--you know, we’d love to have Tommy to stay for a bit when you have the baby, when you’re in the hospital,’ she offers clumsily, not knowing how to phrase it. ‘We’d really love that.’

Katy smiles easily. ‘Thanks, Liz. We’re gonna take you up on that.’

‘I hope you do,’ she tells her. ‘I really love him. He’s such a wonderful little boy.’

‘Yeah, well, see how you feel after tomorrow morning,’ Katy laughs. ‘But yeah, that would be great. I was wonderin’ what we were gonna do.’

‘Anything we can do, I mean it,’ she says.

‘Thank you.’

‘Lilibet,’ Nicky says, coming up behind her. ‘I think we’re ready.’

She turns to look at him. ‘What do I need to do?’

‘Just gather everyone together. Food is out, candles are lit, everything’s all set.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. ‘You are the best.’

He squeezes her hand. ‘Let’s get dinner started, I’m starving!’

She chuckles, then taps her champagne flute lightly with her finger, the crystal ringing with the lovely pure sound she always thinks of as the sound of anticipation. The room quiets and faces turn to her and she thinks for a moment, _this is so wonderful_.

‘Dinner is served,’ she says. She leads the way across the hall to the dining room, though Mike takes her by the arm before she can enter the dining room. She looks at him as their family and friends enter the dining room.

‘I just wanted to tell you that I love you, babe,’ he says softly, looking down into her eyes. ‘I love you so much.’

She smiles, feeling shy, all of the sudden, her heart beating quickly. ‘I love you too.’

He bends and kisses her quickly, resting his hand on her hip. When they break apart, she touches her lips lightly, knowing that she’s blushing. She feels like they’re on a first date all of the sudden, that feeling of excitement and nervousness and anticipation. He grins at her and she smiles back.

‘We should go in,’ she says.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I still don’t know that I’m ready to give the toast, but I’ll do it for you. I’ll do anything for you, you know.’

‘I know,’ she says softly. ‘Thank you.’

He squeezes her hand and then guides her into the dining room.

Everyone is in their seat. She took a lot of time with the seating arrangements. Mike is at the head of the table, with Katy at his right and Miranda at his left. Peter is next to Katy, her mother next to Peter, and Pat next to Mummy and to her left. On her right is Nicky, with Diana at his right, Daddy at her right, and Miranda to his right.

Mike pulls out her chair for her and then crosses to his seat.

‘We’re going to say grace, then Mike will say a toast,’ she says. She folds her hands and looks around the table. Everyone has bent their heads, and she closes her eyes.

‘Dear Lord,’ she begins, ‘thank you for this day and all our many blessings, and give us grateful hearts. Amen.’ She likes this prayer. It is short and simple and appropriate, especially for today. And she is grateful for everything she has.

She opens her eyes and lifts her head. Looking around the table, she is filled with love for the people here--her family, her friends. She loves them all. She is so grateful for them… and she meets Mike’s eyes across the table and smiles. He smiles back, then stands.

‘Thank you all for coming tonight,’ he begins. ‘I’m terrible at makin’ speeches, so this will be short and hopefully not too painful.’ Everyone laughs. ‘Lizzie and I are so grateful that you are here today. Something that I’ve learned this year is the value of friends and family. I’m grateful--we’re both grateful--for your love and support. Thank you.’ He pauses and looks back at her, smiling gently. ‘I’ll leave it at that. Thank you, and eat up!’

He sits down to applause and then the dinner begins.

 

Even in the middle of dinner it has the faded golden quality of a much-loved memory. The food is delicious and the conversation is good and the candles light up the crystal and china with a soft glow, but she feels as though this is a dream, as though this isn’t real. It feels like that scene from Out of Africa, she thinks suddenly, that dinner party scene. _We should have a story. Do you have a story for me?_

She thinks, _one day we can tell our children about this dinner, show them these photographs._

She thinks, too, _even if we invite the same people and cook the same food and have the same wine, we will never recreate this night._

She looks down at her half-empty glass of champagne, bubbles rising up in the golden wine. She’s had one full glass, and half of another, so she knows this strange feeling of inhabiting a story isn’t due to alcohol. She looks up, around the table, at the people gathered here. Some she has known all her life--her parents, her godparents, Nicky--and some are newer friends--Diana, Katy, Pat. And one is the person she loves more than she’s ever loved anyone… she studies him now, across the table, his face illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight.

 _God_ , she thinks, tracing for the thousandth time the strong line of his profile, thinking how handsome she is. _This man…_

She’ll love him forever, she knows. And while they aren’t engaged, aren’t married, she’s given him her heart, handed it to him, entrusted him with her love. She loves him. Like Mary Stuart, she would give up everything she had for him, follow him to the ends of the earth in a white petticoat, only to have him, to keep him, to have him love her…

Sometimes it frightens her, the way he makes her feel. The all-encompassing, all-consuming force of her love for him… she would do so much that she could never imagine, she would lose so much of herself if she ever lost him.

She prays she never does.

Dinner is over. There are far fewer leftovers than she expected, and she and Nicky and Mike bring the dishes to the kitchen while everyone else retires to the living room.

As she loads the dishwasher, she wonders, where will they be next year and in five years and in ten years? In ten years she hopes that they are here, happy, married and with children… two or three, she hopes. She can picture that again for the first time in a long, long time.

When they finish putting the food away and loading the dishwasher, they join everyone in the living room. Nicky leads the way, and Mike follows her, his hand on her waist. She feels warm and content and… God, so happy, so happy.

With whiskey poured and champagne topped up, she and Nicky take their places. Her mother stands by the record player and drops the needle on the tango record. She looks at Nicky and smiles at the rose clenched between his teeth and the music starts to play.

She loves the tango. It’s a work of art and it’s so much fun to dance. Luc taught her how to tango and then she taught Nicky, and they’ve been dancing it together ever since. They play it up, exaggeratedly serious, and at the end he dips her, grinning.

She straightens to applause and she and Nicky bow. She’s smiling, she realizes. She’s happy. She’s proud. Dancing is something she does well and she’s… relieved that she can do something with her body and not her mind, that she isn’t locked into herself any more, that she can be proud of herself.

She embraces Nicky, who bows to her and offers her the rose, which she accepts. She crosses the room to Mike, where he is sitting, leaning against the arm of the loveseat, and sits down with him, leaning back against his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist and she closes her eyes for a moment.

‘That was wonderful, darling,’ her mother says, and she turns her head to smile at her.

‘Thank you,’ she says, and Mike squeezes her waist.

‘You were amazing,’ he says, whispering in her ear. ‘So hot.’

She feels a pleasant shiver of desire shoot through her and she smiles at him too.

‘Now, next up is Peter and Isobel,’ Miranda announces. Mummy and Peter stand up and take their places on either side of the fireplace, not facing each other. Her father puts a new record on and the familiar strains of “Someday I’ll Find You” begin to play. Her mother begins to sing along and she leans back further against Mike and smiles, knowing what scene they’ll do.

Peter turns sharply as her mother begins to sing, and she pretends to ignore him until the song is over.

She turns to him. ‘Thoughtful of them to play that, wasn’t it?’

‘What are you doing here?’ Peter asks her stiffly.

‘I’m on honeymoon,’ her mother replies lightly.

‘How interesting, so am I,’ Peter says.

They continue the quick back-and-forth dialogue, provoking laughter at many points. At last the scene grows serious.

‘You're looking very lovely you know, in this damned moonlight,’ Peter says, taking her mother’s hands. ‘Your skin is clear and cool, and your eyes are shining, and you're growing lovelier and lovelier every second as I look at you. You don't hold any mystery for me, darling, do you mind? There isn't a particle of you that I don't know, remember, and want.’

‘I’m glad, my sweet,’ her mother says softly.

It’s a touching scene. She’s always loved this play, and this language. The professions of love grow more and more ridiculous and finally they decide to run away together.

‘Solomon Isaacs!’ Peter declares when Mummy protests, and takes Mummy’s hands, and they rush off the makeshift stage to applause.

Diana is next, reciting “Recuerdo” by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Then Miranda and Daddy recite “Dialogue on the Headland” by Robert Graves. They are good at portraying the serious nature of this poem, and when Miranda recites the last line--‘You won’t forget me ever, ever, ever?’ there is real anguish in her voice.

Finally it is time for music. Mike stands and fetches his guitar from their bedroom, then returns, sitting on the edge of the loveseat. Katy straightens up and takes a sip of water, then clears her throat while she waits for Mike. Finally he is ready and he begins to play a melody that sounds vaguely familiar. Katy begins to sing.

‘My love said to me, my mother won’t mind,  
And my father won’t slight you for your lack of kine.  
And she stepped away from me and this she did say,  
It will not be long, love, till our wedding day.’

Katy has a beautiful voice, rich with emotion, and Mike--well, he surprises her. The song is haunting, gentle, and the way he accompanies her… she is transfixed. He keeps his eyes closed, his head bent, and the way he plays the guitar… the way his hands move, soft, coaxing the melody out of the guitar… and suddenly she’s imagining his hands on her body, so gentle, so loving, his hands undressing her slowly, his face smiling down at her, his mouth on hers and his warm weight settling on top of her, the feel of him, all of him…

She forces herself to control her breathing and she takes a sip of champagne to hide her flushed face. This feeling is familiar, though she hasn’t felt like this for so long… what a relief.

The song finishes and Mike opens his eyes, catching her gaze. He smiles, a slow, devastating one, and right now all she can think is why are there so goddamn many people here?

He sets his guitar down and settles his arm against the back of the loveseat. She leans back, letting his arm touch her shoulders, the back of her neck, and he rests his hand on her shoulder.

Pat says, ‘I’ll be playin’ two songs--Rolling in the Barrel and The Morning Dew. I hope that’s all right.’

‘Of course,’ she says, as he’s looking at her. Pat smiles and stands, moving so that he is in front of the fire. He brings his fiddle up, then raises his bow, and begins to play.

And Pat is brilliant too, the music flowing, entrancing. Mike’s hand tightens on her shoulder and he pulls her closer to him. She tucks her feet up beneath her and leans against him, closing her eyes and listening to the music.

The songs are over too soon and Pat is encouraged to play another one. He tells them that this one is called “My Love is in America.”

This song… from the very first notes it tugs at her heart and she feels tears well up. The thought of being separated from Mike… she closes her eyes again and pulls his arm more tightly around her.

She opens her eyes when the song ends and joins in applause. The carriage clock on the mantel chimes midnight and suddenly there is a sense that the night is over.

She doesn’t want it to end.

People set their glasses down and gather their things together before saying their goodbyes and goodnights. And then, very suddenly it seems, she and Mike are alone in the living room.

‘That was an amazing night,’ he tells her.

‘It was,’ she agrees, reaching out to take his hand. ‘I love you.’

He squeezes her hand tight. ‘Me too. So much, Lizzie, and forever.’

She squeezes back. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ she says, and, her heart pounding, she steps closer to him. She drops his hand to wrap her arms around his waist and tilts her head to look up at him.

In the dying firelight, his expression is inscrutable. Slowly he raises a hand to cup her cheek. ‘You sure, Lizzie?’

Instead of answering, she rises onto her tiptoes and touches her lips to his. He responds slowly and the feel of him sparks the desire she has for him back into life. She presses her body against his, needing him, wanting him, loving him, and then he finally wraps his arms around her and returns her kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The play quoted is "Private Lives" by Noel Coward (I couldn't help it!!) and the song Katy sings is "She Moves Through the Fair."


	48. Chapter 48

She is sleeping peacefully at last, stretched languidly next to him. This is the first time since Bermuda, since before all this happened, that she hasn’t slept curled up tight, protecting herself. She looks happy; she even has a slight smile on her face as she sleeps.

He should be happy too. She wanted this; she initiated this; she wanted to make love, wanted to be intimate, and… he was scared. And he felt guilty. He didn’t feel like this in Bermuda. When they were in Bermuda he took what she offered to him and didn’t think about anything else, how undeserving he was of her love, her trust. But now… 

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he can pretend nothing has happened because something has happened, even if she doesn’t know it. 

He’s ashamed that when she told him she wanted him, she loved him, he let himself get swept away on the surprising tide of her passion, passion and need and desire that he easily matched. He wanted her; he wanted her always, and she wanted him too, and…

Oh, Christ.

Even though he’d used a condom that night, he’d gotten checked out at a clinic a couple days later. He wanted to make sure everything was… okay. He knows that she’s gone through a barrage of tests for the same reason--not only that day in the hospital, but in the following weeks too.

The bastard hadn’t used a condom when he raped her.

It disgusted him, the thought of that, but he knows that she felt it worse. And… he’d found a discarded pregnancy test in the bathroom a couple weeks after the fact. Negative, thank God, and then she got her period, thank God again. He cannot imagine the choices she would have had to make if the test was positive. Not that it would’ve been, she had an IUD, but… well, her period had been totally out of whack, and… 

And there had been a point, a couple weeks before she saw the bastard the first time, when he wondered if she might be pregnant. Her period was really late and, except for the summer, she’d always been very regular. He could tell she was stressed about it--she stopped drinking more than a glass of wine a night and often didn’t have one at all, and she fidgeted a lot when she thought he wasn’t looking, and she took a pregnancy test the day after she was meant to start her period, then one a week later. Both were negative, but she didn’t relax until after she got her period.

He doesn’t know what they would’ve done, if she’d been pregnant then. Well, he does, actually--he would’ve proposed, and they would’ve gotten married, and right now she would be, what, four months pregnant? And none of this would have happened. It might’ve been a lot earlier than they wanted, but he would have loved that kid, and getting married to Lizzie… he wants that.

He knows that he can’t have that yet, though, the security of her love forever, not until he makes it up to her.

What happens next? If they’re starting to resume their life, he’s gonna have to keep it together. He can’t let her find out anything, he can’t let her even suspect anything. He can’t do that to her.

She sighs in her sleep and he looks down at her. God but she’s gorgeous, he thinks again, for the thousandth time at least. Her auburn hair is loose again from the black velvet bow she tied it back with tonight and it just brushes her bare shoulders. Her skin still has a slight hint of her tan from their trip, and there are a couple new freckles he wants to explore. But how can he let himself do that? But how can he not? If he changes his behavior she’ll know something is wrong, and she’ll find out, and--

 _I’ll be better,_ he promises her silently. _A better person, a better boyfriend. I’ll take care of you. This will never, ever happen again, Lizzie, I promise. I love you._

He lets himself sink down slowly in bed and closes his eyes.

 

He wakes up early, even though he has the next couple days off, and sits up in bed. She’s still asleep next to him and he looks at the clock on her bedside table. It’s only 6:18, so he could go back to sleep, but he doesn’t think he can. Anyway, Katy, Pat, and Tommy are here, and he’s sure they’ll be up soon. Maybe he should take a shower, and they can relax later.

That decided, he climbs out of bed. He tries to get out quietly, but as he pulls the covers back she stirs, the cool air of the morning hitting her bare skin where the covers lift from her body. Sleepily she yawns and turns over, opening her eyes to look at him.

‘Good morning,’ she says, and there’s a smile on her face.

‘Good morning,’ he replies, feeling himself smile in return. She looks so peaceful, he thinks with relief. ‘Uh, I was just gonna take a shower. I figured Tommy and Katy and Pat would be up soon.’

‘Mm, that’s a good idea,’ she says, pushing herself up in bed. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

His response to her words is automatic--he grins and nods, even though he should be feeling guilty, even though he should… he doesn’t know, he should be doing something else, he shouldn’t just be grinning at her like he’s just won the lottery, even though he has with her. She climbs out of bed and steps forward to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She rests her head against his bare chest and he runs his hand down her back, feeling the soft skin of her back, her sharp intake of breath as his hand skims lower. She didn’t get dressed after their interlude last night and she turns her head so that her face is buried against his chest as he lowers his head, beginning to kiss her neck. She tilts her head to give him better access and he can feel the way her pulse races. She lets out a soft, barely audible moan, tightening her grip on his waist.

‘I need you,’ he whispers, and she moans again, a little louder this time, and nods against his chest. He starts walking forward, urging her back to the bed, and she holds him tight, pulling him down on top of her.


	49. Chapter 49

Her body is humming with wellbeing for the first time in a long, long time. It wasn’t even like this in Bermuda. She doesn’t know how long this will last, so she won’t overthink it, she will just embrace it, thank God for it, for him, for this respite.

Her hair is still damp from the shower and she ties it back, putting on a pair of jeans and a thick cashmere sweater. It is chilly in the apartment, so when she is dressed she heads into the hallway to turn up the thermostat.

The apartment is quiet. Mike is still getting ready for the day, and it’s clear that Katy, Pat, and Tommy are still asleep. She heads into the kitchen to make some coffee but hears the television. She sticks her head in the living room and beholds Tommy, curled up on the sofa in his pyjamas, eyes fixed on the television. She smiles at him and says, ‘Good morning, Tommy.’

‘Auntie Liz!’ he says, suddenly jumping off the sofa and running over to her. She hugs him tight, releasing him when he pulls back.

‘What would you like for breakfast?’ she asks him. ‘Pancakes? Waffles? Eggs and bacon?’

He thinks hard. ‘Can I have chocolate chip pancakes? And bacon?’

‘Of course,’ she tells him, smiling. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen.’

Tommy is stirring the batter and she’s starting to fry the bacon when Mike walks in. He’s smiling, looking relaxed and easy, and he ruffles Tommy’s hair before coming over to greet her. He takes her into his arms and bends her back into a deep, romantic kiss, and Tommy laughs at them.

When they break apart, she gazes up at him, feeling a smile spread across her face. He’s grinning back down at her.

‘Good morning,’ he tells her, and she echoes his greeting. ‘Can I help?’

‘We’re having chocolate chip pancakes and bacon!’ Tommy announces.

His arm is still around her waist. ‘Want me to make the bacon?’ he asks.

She shakes her head. ‘I’ll do it. Why don’t you relax, have some coffee?’

‘No, let me, babe,’ he tells her, guiding her away from the stove. ‘Let me get you some coffee.’

She allows him to guide her to the table, where he settles her in a chair, kissing the top of her head. He pours her a cup of coffee and brings it to her, then he applies himself to frying the bacon and heating up a pan for the pancakes. He accepts the batter from Tommy, then begins to make the pancakes. Before she knows it, there are three plates of pancakes and bacon in front of them and they dig in.

The pancakes are delicious. She practically licks the plate clean and he grins at her, nudging his knee against hers. Tommy is equally ravenous, bolting down his food, then a second helping, before he finally leans back against his chair.

‘Good?’ Mike asks, and his nephew nods emphatically.

‘Can I go watch some more TV?’ Tommy asks, looking at them both.

‘Sure,’ Mike says, and Tommy dashes back to the living room.

She stands up and starts to clear the table.

‘No, Lizzie, let me do that,’ he says, taking the plates out of her hands. ‘Sit down, relax, have another cup of coffee.’

‘You’re being too nice to me,’ she jokes, and she watches as his shoulders tense. ‘What is it?’ she asks after a beat, her heart suddenly clenching with fear.

‘Nothin’,’ he says, his voice just barely unconvincing enough for her to believe him. She waits, silent, as he sets the dishes down on the counter. ‘I’ve gotta unload the dishwasher.’ He doesn’t move.

‘Mike,’ she says. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothin’,’ he says again, looking down at the counter. ‘I just… you’re just… you’re this amazin’ woman, Lizzie. And I love you with all my heart. I just want to take care of you. And I know that I can’t, all the time, obviously, but--I can do this. And I just don’t want to think about the other stuff right now, and I’m sure you don’t either, but I just--I want to take care of you. I would do anything for you. I hope you know that. I just… I feel like I’ve let you down.’

‘Mike,’ she says softly.

He turns and looks at her. He looks… bereft, suddenly, such a difference from the joy this morning.

‘You didn’t let me down,’ she tells him. ‘You never have, Mike. What happened… it’s over. It’s in the past. The ramifications of it…’ she sighs. ‘It’s like a stone dropping in the water. The stone is at the bottom of the pond but the ripples are still spreading outwards, and while they’re disappearing… it will take time. But you didn’t throw the stone. I did.’

‘Lizzie--’ he says, and she shakes her head.

‘I did, Mike. I’m the one who went there… and yes, I know that if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else, but… in this case, I’m the one who put these events into motion.’ She sighs again. ‘And speaking of stones, I have to go down to Hogan Place on Monday, tell Stone and Robinette about my meeting with Diane. I--I want him put away, of course, but if they charge him and have to put her on the stand… I don’t trust them with her. I think that they would cause her irreparable damage.’

‘Yeah,’ he says softly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 'And you?' he asks after a long pause. 'Did they irreparably damage you?'

She shakes her head. 'I did that all by myself.'

He doesn't respond; she knows he doesn't know what to say. Neither does she. She stands up, opens the dishwasher, and starts putting away the dishes. She doesn't look at him, but she can feel his gaze on her. Finally he collects the pans from the stove and begins to wash them and they finish tidying the kitchen in silence. 

 

She takes Tommy to play in the park. Katy and Pat are still asleep--this must be their first chance to sleep in in ages, she thinks, leading Tommy across Fifth to the playground at 76th Street. And they were all up late last night. And Katy being pregnant... she can't imagine how Katy does it without a nanny and with a very active child. The least she can do is help. 

It's a beautiful crisp day. The sky is a bright blue and there are still a few crimson leaves on the trees, though most have been raked into big piles perfect for jumping. Tommy practically pulls her the last few steps to the gate and releases her hand to throw himself on the swings. 

It's still early, so the park is almost empty. There are a few dog walkers but they have the playground to themselves. They swing together and she catches him as he barrels down the slide, and he shows her how good he is at the monkey bars. He collapses on a bench after an hour, when the playground has started to fill with parents and their children, and she produces the snack and juice box she packed. 

As he eats, his legs swinging, she thinks about what Mike said, that he let her down. She knows he didn't, but understands why he believes it. But she meant what she said--it wasn't his fault. He couldn't have stopped her from doing what she did, and he did his best. 

She doesn't know how she will be able to talk to Stone and Robinette on Monday. She knows she needs to convince them that they cannot use Diane to prosecute him. She fears that if they do, Diane won't survive. 

'When are you and Uncle Mike going to get married?' Tommy asks her suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. 

She smiles down at him. 'I'm not sure.'

'When you get married, you'll be my real aunt,' Tommy states happily. 'I want that.'

'Oh, sweetheart, I want that too,' she admits, putting her arm around his narrow shoulders. He smiles up at her and her heart flips over. How can she be so wild with love over this little boy? Is it because she wants children of her own so badly? No, she thinks. She loves Tommy because he is a wonderful little boy, because seeing him is like getting the gift of Mike in his childhood too, if his childhood had been happy. 'I love you so much,' she tells him. 

He wraps his arms around her waist and squeezes tight. 'I love you too.'

Then he flings himself off the bench. He is in perpetual motion, it seems. 'I want to run!' he declares, and takes off before she can say anything, running with the wild joy of childhood inside the perimeter of the playground fence. 

Her thoughts wander again. When will she sit here, watching her child run, swing, slide? When will she get to shriek with joy over a positive pregnancy test, when will she get to feel her child move inside her, when will she get to hold her baby after they are born? How much longer will she have to wait to feel ready again, and how much longer after that will she have to wait for them to marry?

This summer she thought she might be pregnant, before all of this happened. That was her ostensible excuse for seeing the bastard, after all. Her periods had always been as regular as clockwork and then, suddenly, they were not.

In July her period had been a day late and much lighter than usual. She hadn't really paid attention at the time--they were at the beach for Mike's birthday and honestly it felt like a blessing, not having to worry about tampons--but then in August... 

She always had cramps the week preceding her period but they were absent in August. She has an IUD but they aren't foolproof, and she thought... 

When she didn't have cramps, she stopped drinking cocktails and had a single glass of wine if she had anything in the evenings. The day her period was due nothing happened, so she went to the pharmacy near her office and bought a pregnancy test. She didn't speak about it with Mike, though she knew that he was aware of what was going on. But she didn't want to talk about it until she knew for sure if she was pregnant or not. 

If she had been pregnant... she’ll admit that she let herself daydream a bit. She let herself imagine their child and their future if she was pregnant. They'd get married, he'd move in to her apartment for real, and she imagined how they would decorate the nursery, and started thinking of names... 

The pregnancy test was negative. Both of them were, and when she finally got her period eight days after she should have she was disappointed. She was devastated. That night when he came back and she was in bed with a hot water bottle he cuddled her close and gave her a massage and kissed her forehead. She doesn't know how he felt and doesn't really want to know, because she's afraid he would have been relieved. He had told her this summer that he wanted children with her, but she was sure that this would have been too soon for him. 

Tommy runs back to her, flinging himself into her waiting arms. He climbs up onto the bench next to her and cuddles close. She holds him tight. 

'Do you want to play some more?' she asks him. 

He shakes his head. 'Can we go back to your apartment? I want to play with my trains.'

'Of course,' she says, releasing him from her embrace. 'Let's go.'

 

When they get back to her apartment they find Katy, Pat, and Mike in the living room drinking coffee. Tommy runs over to his mother to hug her and she fights back a pang of jealousy as she watches them hug. Then she thinks to herself, _you’re being ridiculous. You’re not ready to have a child right now._

‘Thanks for takin’ him to the park, Liz,’ Katy says, and she looks at Katy. ‘I can’t believe we slept so late, I’m really sorry.’

She forces herself to smile at Katy and Pat. ‘Don’t worry about it--you deserved a lie-in. We had a good time.’

‘We did,’ Tommy confirms, grinning at her.

‘Well, we should get goin’,’ Pat says, standing up. ‘Liz, thank you so much for havin’ us, and for such a wonderful evening.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ she says, stepping forward to hug Pat, then Katy, then Tommy. ‘You’re welcome any time.’

‘I’m gonna drive them back, Lizzie,’ Mike says as she stands up after hugging Tommy. ‘I’ll be back in a bit.’

‘All right,’ she says, and kisses his cheek before they gather their things together. There is one more round of hugs and goodbyes and then she is alone.

 

Mike will be gone for a couple hours, so she keeps herself busy. She strips the beds in the guest room, their bedroom, and her office, and starts a load of laundry. She makes up their bed with fresh sheets. She cleans the bathrooms and tidies up her office, and then, at a loss for what else to do, makes herself a cup of tea and goes into the living room. She builds up a fire, then selects a record--Joni Mitchell, _Clouds_ , and puts it on, then goes back to her big sofa, lying back and closing her eyes.

Her mind wanders easily nowadays. It never used to, not even at other times of distress in her life. But now… it takes so much effort to keep her concentration on the task at hand, even if the task is a pleasant one, like listening to music.

Her life feels so different now. Her mind feels different. What happened… it wasn’t just a physical attack, and adjusting to life after this has been a difficult mental shift. Her physical wounds have healed, though it took time; she’s not sure when, if ever, the mental ones will. Bruises fade easier than these memories.

The problem is, she thinks, is that when and if these mental wounds heal, scars will remain. Her life will not go back to the way it was. It never will. It never could. And she wants her life to go back to the way it was so badly… 

She was happy. She was almost completely happy, and of course that couldn’t last. Happiness never does, she thinks. But then nothing lasts really, neither happiness nor despair. She opens her eyes. Where is that from? She casts about in her mind but nothing enlightens her. She’ll think of it later. It’s true. This won’t last forever, and that gives her hope.

She is glad, at least, that they were finally able to make love here at home. She doesn’t know why she didn’t feel comfortable before. Her apartment is her home, her sanctuary, and she is safe here. And it’s not only her home, it’s their home, the place where they live, even though he has his own apartment.

She doesn’t want to go down to Hogan Place on Monday. At least she has a few days before she needs to speak with Stone and Robinette. She has two and a half days left, and for all of them Mike will be here with her. Maybe they can just barricade the doors, the two of them, and spend the weekend together, alone. Maybe they can just listen to music and drink hot chocolate in the windowseat and maybe she can just stay curled up against his warmth, safe. That’s what she wants, she decides. She wants to stay here with him. She hopes he agrees. A few days of peace… 

‘I don’t know where I stand,’ Joni Mitchell sings.

She doesn’t know where she stands with many things, she thinks. She’s getting back to work slowly, and she and Mike are resuming their relationship, but she feels like she needs to renegotiate her place in the world, and she doesn’t know how to do that.

The record comes to an end and she stands up to change the record to the b-side. She sits back down on the sofa and picks up her forgotten mug of tea. She takes a sip and listens.

‘“Lady, please love me now I was dead  
I am no saint, turn down your bed  
Lady, have you no heart, " that's what you said  
Well, I can be cruel  
But let me be gentle with you.”’

She loves this song, though she hasn’t listened to it for years. Joni Mitchell’s voice is beautiful. As she begins the second verse, she hears the keys in the lock, then hears Mike open the front door. She closes her eyes and listens as he sheds his coat and shoes, hanging up his coat in the closet, then listens as he locks the doors. He pads down the hall to the living room and she opens her eyes to see him standing in the doorway.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I like the music.’

‘Joni Mitchell,’ she tells him as the song comes to an end. ‘Can you restart this side?’

‘Sure,’ he says, and walks over to the record player. She prefers records, likes the durabilty of them, and he lifts the needle and drops it at the beginning of the record again. As the music starts to play, he comes over to the sofa and sits back against the other sofa arm, facing her, pulling her feet onto his lap. He starts to rub them as the song begins again.

‘You really like poetry, don’t you?’ he asks as Joni plays the final chords. He’s been massaging her feet the entirety of the song and now he slides his hands up her ankles to her calves.

‘Yes,’ she says, and he slides one hand up to rest on the back of her knee. She feels her heartbeat quicken, knows that her breathing has become shallower at his touch. She looks into his eyes and her breath catches in her throat at the love and desire there. He lowers his head and kisses her knee. Then, suddenly, he stands up and restarts the record, looking over at her.

‘I like this song,’ he tells her, joining her on the sofa again.

‘Mm,’ she says, leaning back further, almost completely reclining, as he kisses her ankle, then makes his way up her leg, then further, up to her stomach, moving her cashmere sweater away. She’s almost panting with pure, uncomplicated, blissful desire, and his breath is coming quickly now too as he slips his hand up her skirt.

‘Lady, please love me,’ he says softly, looking down at her, holding himself above her so that they barely touch. ‘Please love me, love me, love me.’

‘I do,’ she breathes, looking up into his eyes. ‘Oh, God, I love you.’

He looks back at her, his gaze intense, and slowly, slowly, bends to kiss her. The kiss is soft and passionate and goes on and on, until her entire body is trembling with the force of her need for him. He pulls back and she stares up at him, dizzy.

He says, almost apologetically, ‘I’m not a saint, Lizzie, you know that, but love me, please--please love me, please let me in, let me be with you--’

She feels herself nod, in a daze, and he sits back, pulling his body away from her. She moans in disappointment and confusion and then he is lifting her up, carrying her into their bedroom. He sets her down next to the bed and rests one hand on her waist, one hand on the small of her back.

‘Let me be gentle with you,’ he says softly, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Please, Lizzie, I love you, I need you, I want you--’

She feels lightheaded and dizzy and drunk with love and need. She nods and he begins to undress her very slowly, tenderly, lovingly. She moves to reciprocate, to unbuckle his belt or unbutton his shirt, but each time he gently takes her hands in his, kisses them, and brings them back to her side.

Finally she is naked and so is he and he looks at her with love. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he says fervently, reaching out to gently caress her hip. ‘Oh, God, Lizzie, I can’t believe how beautiful you are.’


	50. Chapter 50

They spend the weekend quietly, as she wanted. He knows that Monday’s gonna be a tough day, because something will happen--either Stone will decline to prosecute the bastard again or he’ll try to go after him with a woman who will not be able to stand up to Melnick’s questions in court. He knows she’s worried about Diane’s chance of survival… he is, too. And he’s scared that when she goes in on Monday, all the progress she’s made will just fall by the wayside as she relives it again.

So they spend the weekend quietly. They build a fire and one night they make s’mores. They listen to music and read and watch movies. They cook together. They go for a walk in the Park, around the reservoir and then up to Harlem Meer. They even, twice more, make love. She seems at peace.

On Monday he wakes up early to make her breakfast--pancakes with bacon in the middle, her favorite of his limited repertoire. As he starts to fry the bacon, he hears her wake up, hears the shower turn on, and he starts the coffee. By the time she joins him in the kitchen, wearing her robe, her hair damp, breakfast is ready for her.

She thanks him, but he can tell he’s already losing her again. She’s very silent, eating mechanically, and when she finishes she goes back into their bedroom to change. She wears a blouse with a high collar and her grey suit and stops in the kitchen to say goodbye.

‘Here goes nothing, I guess,’ she says, smiling humorlessly.

He abandons the pan he’s washing and comes to give her a hug. ‘I’ll be home as soon as I can.’

She nods against his chest. ‘I just want this to be over, Mike. Over for good. I want him in jail for the rest of his life. But the thing is… I don’t want that to be at the expense of Diane’s life. Even if he does it again. Is that wrong?’

‘No,’ he says softly, knowing that it’s what she needs to hear. ‘It’s not wrong.’

She pulls back and looks up at him. Despite the tension in her voice, her eyes are dry and clear. ‘We both know it is.’

‘Lizzie…’

She shakes her head. ‘All I can do is fight for her. If Stone decides to go ahead… Mike, I--I don’t know what I should do.’

‘I dunno,’ he says. ‘I wish I had an answer for you.’

‘Me too,’ she says softly. ‘Me too. Look, I have to go.’

‘Okay. I love you. I’ll give you a call this afternoon.’

She nods. ‘I love you too.’

When she goes, he finishes scrubbing the pan, then takes a quick shower and dresses. He has to get to work.

 

As he drives uptown, he thinks about what’s gonna happen next. He has no great faith that Stone will hold off on prosecuting the bastard for Diane. He’s not as bad as McCoy, who takes each case so personally, like his ability to get a conviction for the smallest thing is a reflection on himself, not just his ability as a prosecutor. But Stone… he’s the sort of guy who he thinks of as a white knight, ridding the kingdom of a dragon, rescuing the fair maiden. Well, he failed to kill the dragon this time, so of course he’ll go at it again. And as for the fair maiden… Lizzie can rescue herself. She doesn’t need Stone--hell, she doesn’t even need him. But he loves her, and Lizzie loves him too, so that’s all there is to it. Stone can take a backseat.

 

He and Briscoe get the call half an hour after he gets in. He picks up the phone.

‘Hey, Mike, it’s Paul,’ Robinette says. ‘Listen, Ben wants you and Briscoe to go pick Merritt up and let us know when you’re bringing him down to get arraigned. He wants to get it on the local news.’

He glances over at his new partner, who is looking curious.

‘Okay. So, we’ll pick him up, let him call Melnick, then get him downtown right away. No interrogation.’

‘Yeah,’ Paul says. ‘Give me a call when you’re leaving the precinct.’

‘We’ll go pick him up now. Is Lizzie still there?’

‘Uh, yeah, she’s right here,’ Paul says. ‘Do you want to speak to her?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, and there’s a muffled sound as the receiver is passed to her.

‘Hello?’ she says.

‘Hey, babe, it’s me. You okay?’ He catches Briscoe’s interested glance but ignores it.

‘Fine,’ she says, though she sounds anything but fine.

‘Well, Briscoe and I are gonna pick the bastard up, okay, and he’ll get arraigned. I’ll get home as soon as I can.’

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Be careful. I love you.’

‘I love you too, Lizzie,’ he says softly. ‘See you tonight.’

‘Okay,’ she says, and he hangs up, looking at his partner full in the face.

‘Let’s go. We’re pickin’ Merritt up for the rape of Diane Perkins.’

To his credit, Briscoe nods and gets to his feet and waits till they’re in the car to talk.

‘So, you and Olivet, huh?’ he asks as he turns on the car.

‘Yeah,’ he says tightly as Briscoe puts the car in gear.

‘Wouldn’t have thought it.’

‘We’ve been together more than a year,’ he explains tersely. ‘And we’ve kept it quiet. Donny and Phil know, but that’s it for around the precinct. So don’t go spreadin’ it around.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Briscoe says, shaking his head. ‘So where’s Merritt’s office?’

‘72nd between Madison and Park,’ he says, and Briscoe heads downtown.


	51. Chapter 51

She makes her way through the familiar twisting corridors of Hogan Place. As she’s thought many times, it feels as though she’s in a rabbit warren for all that she’s ten stories in the air. Right now, though, she feels as though she’s trapped in the labyrinth, with minotaurs at every corner.

She doesn’t want to be here.

After this, she will have to call Diane, or go see her, but she doesn’t know how she can, no matter what Stone says.

She stops outside Stone’s office door and takes a deep breath. She raises her hand and knocks lightly and the door is opened immediately by Paul.

‘Liz,’ he says, ‘thanks for coming.’

She nods, forcing herself to smile, and Paul steps aside to let her into Ben’s office. 

‘Elizabeth,’ Ben says, crossing the room to her. He bends to kiss her on the cheek and she steps back slightly, involuntarily, unwilling to be touched. _You should know that!_ she screams inwardly at him. _My God! Why would I want you to touch me after what you did in court?_ Ben turns the movement into a pat on her shoulder and she looks over at Paul, who has pulled a chair out for her. She takes a seat and Paul does too, with Ben following belatedly.

‘So, Elizabeth,’ Ben says, flustered, fiddling with his pen. ‘You spoke with Diane?’

‘Yes,’ she says, looking at him. He does not meet her gaze.

‘And what did she say?’ Paul asks.

‘Does she remember what happened now?’ Ben adds.

‘She remembers, but putting her on the stand would be disastrous for her,’ she tells them.

‘With the nurse to corroborate, all she has to do is say it happened,’ Ben says, slipping back into lawyer-mode.

‘And Merritt’s lawyer will destroy her. She thinks she’s responsible. She thinks she seduced him.’ Her heart breaks for Diane all over again, remembering her words, her mistaken beliefs, her tears… 

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Paul says dismissively.

‘It’s typical,’ she replies, forcing herself not to snap back. _My God_ , she thinks again, _these men, why the hell isn’t Donnelly prosecuting this case? How do they not get this?_

‘Without her testimony, Liz, we can't prosecute,’ Ben tells her, instructing her as though she’s someone who has no idea what goes on in these offices, cutting deals and “encouraging” testimony… she’s not a naive woman who can be pushed around by The Law. She knows that they need Diane’s testimony. What they don’t seem to understand or accept is that Diane can’t give them that.

She speaks calmly, trying to explain the bastard’s motivations, because they obviously didn’t listen before. ‘After he raped me, he just smiled and left the room. After the acquittal he had that same damn smile. It was like he was bragging to everyone in the room, “I did it and I got away with it and there’s nothing anyone can do.”

‘You mean, bragging is part of this?’ Ben asks, her words finally dawning on him.

 _Yes!_ she wants to scream. _Haven’t you been listening any of the times we’ve spoken, not just about this case but about any rape case? Rape is about power. It’s not about sex. It’s not about desire. It’s about control. It’s about power._ ‘It's what makes his conquest complete,’ she says instead, her voice bitter.

He nods slowly. ‘Call Briscoe and Logan, and have Dr. Merritt arrested,’ Ben instructs Paul.

‘Ben, I told you--’ she begins, and he interrupts her.

‘Diane won't have to testify. And make sure that the local news knows when Merritt will be arraigned.’

Paul nods and picks up the phone and she looks down at her hands. She hears Paul dial.

‘Hey, Mike, it’s Paul,’ he says suddenly. ‘Listen, Ben wants you and Briscoe to go pick Merritt up and let us know when you’re bringing him down to get arraigned. He wants to get it on the local news.’

She looks at Ben, who is focused on her. She looks back down at her hands and strains her ears, trying to hear Mike. It’s fruitless.

‘Yeah,’ Paul says. ‘Give me a call when you’re leaving the precinct.’ There’s a pause, while Mike speaks, and then Paul says, ‘Uh, yeah, she’s right here. Do you want to speak to her?’ Her head snaps up and Paul is looking at her quizzically for a moment before he hands her the phone. ‘He wants to speak to you.’

‘Hello?’ she says.

‘Hey, babe, it’s me. You okay?’

She sighs with relief at the sound of his voice and she just wants to tell him everything that’s happened, to rage and curse and just let vent her anger. She settles for replying, briefly, ‘Fine.’ 

‘Well, Briscoe and I are gonna pick the bastard up, okay, and he’ll get arraigned. I’ll get home as soon as I can,’ he tells her.

‘Okay,’ she says, and, wanting to say something more, she adds, ‘Be careful. I love you.’

‘I love you too, Lizzie,’ he says softly. ‘See you tonight.’

‘Okay,’ she says, and she hangs up, looking at first Paul, then Ben. Paul is making notes on a legal pad and Ben is staring at her, the strangest expression on his face. He shakes his head as though to clear it and his expression is normal again. Maybe she imagined it, though she doesn’t think so.

‘I’ll call you later and give you an update,’ he offers.

She nods and stands. ‘Thank you. I am going to speak to Diane and let her know what will happen next.’

Ben makes to stand too, but she collects her purse and leaves the office before she can do so. Once outside in the hall, she leans against the wall for a moment, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. _I hope he knows what he’s doing_ , she thinks.

 

Diane isn’t at home--her doorman says that her mother has taken her out of town for a time--and she writes a letter that the doorman will pass along.

 _Dear Diane_ , she writes.

_The District Attorney’s office is charging Dr. Merritt with Rape in the First Degree. I have spoken with the lead prosecutor and he assures me that you will not have to testify. Please call me if you have any questions or concerns. My home phone number is 555-1234._

_Liz Olivet_

She hopes that Diane hears her message before she finds out on the evening news. Actually, she thinks, leaving Diane’s building, she hopes that Diane is out of range of the local news stations. She doesn’t want her to go through this again.

Stone isn’t just trying a case here, he’s playing with lives, people’s lives, and their very real wellbeing and survival. He needs to know that. She thinks he may have lost sight of that. She prays he hasn’t.


	52. Chapter 52

He barely makes it time in home for the six o’clock news. Lennie covers for him, and Donny’s out anyway, so he books it home and is unlocking the door five minutes to six.

He doesn’t bother to put his coat or bag away, just quickly kicks off his shoes and heads into the living room. Lizzie is there already, curled up tight in the corner of the big sofa, the television in the corner on. She’s wearing one of his sweaters, the one his great-aunt in Ireland knit for him, and she has a blanket tucked over her knees. She looks up at him when he enters the living room.

‘Hey,’ he says softly.

‘Hi,’ she replies, her voice equally soft. ‘You arrested him?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Booked him, brought him down to get arraigned.’

‘Good,’ she says. ‘Did you stay and watch the arraignment?’

He shakes his head. ‘I had to get back to work. I guess we’ll see it now.’

She nods slowly but the words spill out in contrast to her calm appearance. ‘Stone told me that he’d call me and give me an update but I just… I couldn’t pick up the phone. I went to see Diane but she wasn’t there, her mother took her out of town, and God, Mike, I hope she’s out of the range of the local news, I don’t know how she’ll handle it…’ She stops and takes a deep breath as the evening news jingle starts to play.

‘Come here, please,’ she says, and he does as she asks, sitting on the sofa next to her. She uncurls enough to move closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

There are a few stories before the one they’re waiting for.

‘In other news,’ says the newscaster, ‘Dr. Merritt, prominent Park Avenue gynecologist, has been arrested again for the alleged rape of Diane Perkins. He was tried for the alleged rape of Elizabeth Olivet earlier this year and was found not guilty. We go now to the courthouse earlier this afternoon.’

‘Mr. Stone, Mr. Stone!’ a clamor of reporters says, and they can see Stone and Robinette on the familiar courthouse steps.

‘Do you think you'll be successful this time?’ a reporter asks. He feels her tense.

‘I don't go forward unless I think I have a case.’

‘Yeah, but is it a good case? What's the problem? Dr. Merritt’s guilty. Why has it been so difficult to successfully prosecute him?’

‘It’s the same with most rape cases. Even more so when doctors are involved. The victims feel disgraced. They feel guilty and they're ashamed to come forward,’ Stone tells them.

‘There's Dr. Merrit,’ another reporter says, and then suddenly the bastard’s face is filling the screen. She turns her head and buries her face in his chest so she doesn’t have to see him.

‘Doctor, will you be exonerated of all charges? Could we get a statement please?’

His voice is just as smug and self-assured as it was when they picked him up this morning. ‘I assure you, I’ve done nothing wrong. I treat women, I don't rape them. Women respect me.’ He feels her shudder and he wraps his arms around her. ‘It’s been my success.’

Melnick says, ‘Look, this is a vendetta by the DA's office, pure and simple. This case will never get to trial.’

The scene on the courthouse steps ends abruptly and goes back to the newscaster. ‘Dr. Merritt was released on $100,000 bail this afternoon. The defense are requesting a short trial date. We were not able to reach the alleged victim, Diane Perkins, for comment.’

He stands up and turns off the television when it goes to commercial. Across the room, he turns and looks at her. She’s curled up again and looks back at him steadily.

‘What’s Stone doin’?’ he asks her. ‘Does he have a plan?’

‘Presumably,’ she says, and her voice is bitter. ‘Why would he share it with me, though?’

‘Want me to call Paul, see if he’ll enlighten us?’

She shakes her head. ‘Today, when I met with them, Stone finally realized that rape is about power, not about sex, not about desire. Where has he been? I’ve been telling him this for years, not just in this case, but in the Kostrinski case, for instance, or--’ she breaks off, her voice wavering. ‘How does he not understand that? Why didn’t Donnelly prosecute, or, hell, even McCoy? Donnelly would have known what it was about, and at least McCoy wants to win at all costs!’

‘He’s gonna get him,’ he says, though he’s not sure that he believes it.

‘I trusted him!’ she says, starting to cry. ‘I trusted him to make sure that this bastard would be locked away forever. And what the hell did he do? Nothing! He didn’t even file notice for an appeal! And it’s like a chess game to him, Ben Stone on his white charger, riding to the rescue. He’s hurting people, real people, and he could kill Diane because of this, and as for me--what about me?’ Her tears are coming harder, faster, now. ‘What about me? I’m a person, and this happened, even if I went there because he did something to Diane, that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve justice, that doesn’t mean that I’m not just as hurt, and as damaged, as anyone else! It’s not fair! And then bringing it up when I was on the stand… it’s his own goddamn fault!’

‘Lizzie,’ he says, and crosses the room to her. She holds up her hands to keep him from touching her.

‘If it had been anyone else… if it had been Diana doing witness prep, or Donnelly, or--I could have told them about Diane. And then Melnick wouldn’t have blindsided them on the stand. And if it had been any other judge… but it doesn’t matter because, my God, he should appeal! And today, he tried to kiss my cheek, where does he get off invading my personal space, when he discredited me, when he hasn’t even apologized--’ She continues talking, but he can’t distinguish any words, she is weeping too much.

He stands there, helpless, wanting to hold her and keep her safe and protect her, but unable to do anything as she weeps, as she sobs, as she tries to tell him how she feels. And then finally, finally, she holds out her arms for him and he is there, holding her, rocking her back and forth until her sobs finally abate and her breathing steadies.

‘What if this doesn’t work?’ she asks him later, much later.

‘Then we’ll figure out something,’ he tells her. ‘I promise, Lizzie.’

She nods against his chest. ‘I trust you.’

His heart clenches at that, her trust, her gift to him, but he doesn’t say anything, just bends to kiss the top of her head.

 

On Wednesday, Paul calls him and tells him that they need to arrest Jimmy Scanlon for murder, that Mary Kostrinski was a hired hitwoman for him. That she lied about almost being raped. He fills in the blanks himself, that Liz was wrong, that Kostrinski fooled her, used her own experience against her, that Stone was right.

He and Briscoe pick up Scanlon, book him, and he’s out that afternoon thanks to his overpriced lawyers.

How’s he gonna tell Lizzie?

 

He tells her that night, having brought home dinner from that Italian place she loves, over pasta primavera. She looks down at her plate and pushes her dinner around her plate.

‘So Stone was right, after all,’ she says woodenly. ‘What a… what a waste.’

She sets her fork down deliberately and stands up, heading to their bedroom. He cleans up dinner and heads back to find her. She is soaking in the bath again and his heart aches.


	53. Chapter 53

She hears from Stone on Wednesday night that Merritt is taking a plea after fifty-six women he raped, molested, or abused came forward after his little stunt on the evening news. She’s surprised it was that many. She’s surprised that he and Paul and Diana and McCoy and anyone else who could be spared were able to take fifty-six witness statements in only two days.

She heads down to Hogan Place on Thursday morning to meet with Diana. She’s testifying in an upcoming case of a teenager manipulated by his father into robbing a series of drugstores. She goes through the witness prep mechanically--she and Diana work well together--and then, when she’s waiting for the elevator on the tenth floor, she hears Stone call her name.

‘Elizabeth,’ he says, and she looks up to see him approaching her.

She doesn’t want him to fumble through the opening of a conversation when they both know that she was wrong. She still can’t believe that Mary Kostrinski was able to fool her so badly. She can’t believe it.

‘Sometimes you have an awful way of being right,’ she tells him, her tone teetering between wry and bitter. She can barely meet his gaze.

‘It's the curse of having a distrustful nature, and I'm very sorry about what happened in court,’ he says.

 _Finally!_ she wants to scream. _It took you long enough. Even if I was wrong… you should never have done that._ She says, ‘We all read from the same manual. I knew it was coming.’ It’s true. She did. She shouldn’t be angry with him. She’s still angry with him.

‘She fooled a lot of people,’ he tells her, obviously trying to comfort her.

It doesn’t work. ‘But not for the same reason she fooled me,’ she tells him. He doesn’t know what to say.

The elevator arrives and she steps into it, forcing a small smile. The doors thankfully close and she closes her eyes, waiting for the elevator to take her down, away from this place.

 

She goes to the Colony Club for a belated lunch. She knows that Mike is working late tonight, and she doesn’t have any appointments today, so she takes her time, then finds a book in the library and reads.

Tomorrow she has appointments in the morning and then she can go home. She has to go Christmas shopping, though she doesn’t know how on earth she’ll be able to manage the crowds. Maybe she’ll hire a personal shopper this year. She doesn’t know what else she can do. She’ll go to Bergdorf’s tomorrow and speak with someone.

 

When she gets home, Mike still isn’t home. She makes a sandwich for dinner and goes to bed, even though it’s only six in the evening. She wants to feel warm and safe and so she brings a cup of camomile tea with her as she reads Joan Didion.

_Inez said the 3:45 A.M. flight from Honolulu to Hong Kong was exactly the way she hoped dying would be._

_Dawn all the way._

God, when will she emerge from this eternal night and see the dawn again? she thinks setting down her book. She’s had flashes of light--Bermuda, Thanksgiving, this weekend--but it was a false dawn, a lighthouse beam illuminating the dark for only brief periods.

She’s tired. The bastard will allocute next week, on Tuesday. She will be there.

Maybe that will give her some closure.

 

When she wakes up in the morning, Mike is already awake and she can smell bacon cooking. She’s starving, suddenly, and she has time for breakfast before her first appointment at ten. She rolls out of bed and puts her warm flannel robe over her nightgown and pads down the hall to the kitchen.

Mike is standing at the stove in his boxers and a tshirt, flipping bacon. There’s a pan of scrambled eggs on the back burner and a fresh pot of coffee. He looks up when she enters the room.

‘Good morning,’ he says. ‘Sit down, babe, breakfast is almost ready. Can I get you some coffee?’

She nods and takes a seat, watching as he pours her a cup of coffee and puts some cream in it for her before bringing it over.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ he tells her, grinning. ‘Want breakfast first or after?’

She tries to summon up some of his enthusiasm. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘Now,’ he says, ‘I can’t wait.’

She stands up as he flips off the burners and takes her hand, leading her down the hall to the living room. He guides her in front of him as they reach the living room and stops in the door.

‘What do you think?’ he asks as she takes in the enormous Christmas tree, already strung with lights. The lights sparkle and the room smells delicious and his arms are tight around her, hugging her.

‘I love it,’ she says, turning and summoning up a smile. ‘Thank you, Mike.’

He bends to kiss her. ‘I love you. Let’s eat.’

She follows him back to the kitchen and sits down as he puts eggs, toast, and bacon on her plate. Despite her earlier hunger, she has to force herself to eat, though thankfully Mike doesn’t notice. He keeps up a running commentary about the rest of the week, his ideas for Christmas presents, his desire to decorate the tree tonight. She nods and makes appropriate murmurs when a response is called for, then finishes her breakfast, heading back to their bedroom to change. He has the day off today, so he sees her off with a kiss and a promise to have dinner ready for her when she gets back.

 

In between appointments, she decides she must do as much of her own Christmas shopping as she can. She braves Bloomingdale’s, buying handmade silk ties for her father and godfather, Hermès scarves for her mother, godmother, and Chrissy. She buys a thick cashmere sweater for Mike, cashmere scarves for her cousins, and she’ll buy either champagne or tickets to something--the opera or a sporting event--to top off her gifts. But she needs something more for Mike.

Leaving Bloomingdale’s, laden down with her bags, she sees a cab drive by with an ad for Aer Lingus and she thinks, _perfect. That will be the perfect gift._

He’s spent these endless nights talking about Ireland, describing the village where his family lives, the sea and the lake and the long evenings around peat fires, the comradery and the music and… and she was captivated. He spoke of the country with such affection, surely he will love a trip back… she’ll buy tickets right away for his birthday, and talk to Cragen, make sure his vacation time is marked off on the precinct calendar right away.

She feels better, having thought of presents, having purchased some. The city is already filled with the Christmas spirit, and tonight they’ll decorate the tree and listen to Christmas carols. She needs to remember to be grateful for the blessings she has.

 

When she gets home, she’s stunned with the level of his Christmas preparations. He’s decorated the foyer and bought a wreath for her front door. There’s a delicious smell of roast beef wafting from the kitchen, and he greets her with a mug of hot chocolate spiked with rum. She changes quickly and joins him in the living room.

He’s collected her Christmas ornament boxes from the storage space in the basement and has laid them out on trays, ready to be hung on the tree. The lights on the tree are lit and sparkling, and he’s lit a fire, and Christmas carols are playing--he’s made everything so perfect she feels herself relax a little.

They decorate the tree, lower branches first, then higher ones. She shares some of the stories about the ornaments--this one from Paris when she was small, this one from Scotland when she and Audrey traveled after high school, this one from her father’s mother. He disappears for a minute and produces an ornament he bought in Bermuda--a small wooden Bermuda house, with a heart-shaped wreath on the door.

‘I love it,’ she tells him, and leans forward to kiss him. ‘Thank you.’

They hang it together in pride of place.

Finally the only thing left is the angel, handmade from shells by her mother’s great-grandmother. He gets a chair from the kitchen and she balances carefully before finally settling it on top of the tree.

‘There,’ she says. ‘Done.’

‘I love it,’ he replies. ‘It’s a beautiful tree. And now, I think it’s time for dinner.’

‘Lead the way,’ she tells him, and he takes her hand, bringing her into the dining room.

 

Dinner is delicious--he is a surprisingly good cook--and she unwinds with the good, plentiful food, and his loving attention, and a couple glasses of the Chateau Margaux left over from Thanksgiving. By the time he brings the plates into the kitchen she is feeling good, content, relaxed. She takes a sip of her third glass of wine and closes her eyes. She should probably go into the living room, relax, and put on some music, but right now she feels so relaxed she can’t imagine moving, even though she’s in her straightbacked dining room chair.

He’s so kind to her, so thoughtful, so loving. And she… she loves him so much, she wants to be with him forever, she wants to be married to him soon, soon, soon. She wants them to belong to each other officially, legally, forever. She wants people to know. She wants to be open with their relationship. She wants children.

She opens her eyes. She doesn’t want to dwell on this. They’ve talked about children and he wants children, wants children with her. They just… they didn’t talk about the timeline.

She’s not ready for children yet, no, not right now, but… but soon. And she will talk about it with him. She will.

That decided, she stands up and makes her way into the living room. He’s gone through her record collection and pulled out a few that he presumably wants to listen to. She shuffles through the pile-- _Days of Future Passed_ by the Moody Blues, _Making Movies_ by Dire Straits--a record she bought for him, and the Joni Mitchell album they listened to the other day. She picks The Moody Blues and puts it on the “Night” side.

He comes in a few minutes later, when “Tuesday Afternoon” is coming to an end, and he grins at her, then goes to the bar to pour himself a whiskey. He joins her again, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and she leans into him, taking a sip of wine.

She loves this album. The orchestra, the lyrics… and she loves being here too, in his arms, sipping a delicious glass of wine, the fire crackling and warming the room, the scent of their Christmas tree, the glow of the fire and the candles he’s lit and the lights on the tree. How lovely it is… she feels as though her entire world is contained here in this room. 

But she wants something more too. There are so many possibilities right now and she wants them all, she wants to share what she wants with him.

‘I want a baby,’ she admits softly, surprising herself that she’s breaking the peace of the moment with something potentially disruptive. ‘I want children. I want us to be married and I don’t... I don’t want to wait. I want us to belong to each other officially. I want us to be able to bring our relationship out in the open. I love you. I want to be with you always.’ She pauses. ‘I’m not ready for a baby right now, but I think I will be soon. And when we have a baby... I think, well, I could step back from my work for the city legitimately. It wouldn’t be like running away.' He is silent and she hurries to say, ‘I don’t want a baby because of that, of course. I want children with you, I have since well before all this happened. What--what do you think?’

He doesn’t say anything and she turns her head to look at him. He’s asleep.

She sighs and gently extricates herself from his embrace, then takes the tipping glass of whiskey from his hand. She blows out the candles, unplugs the Christmas tree lights, and then goes to the fireplace to extinguish the dying fire. He wakes up as she puts the poker back, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ he says, and his voice is thick with exhaustion.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

He nods and stands, yawning. She collects their used glasses and brings them to the kitchen before joining him in the bedroom.


	54. Chapter 54

He spends his day off productively. He plays a pickup game at the 92nd Street Y and collects his mail and checks his messages at his apartment. He’s never here any more--just to pick up his mail once a week--and it’s kind of a waste of money paying rent when he’s never here. He knows that if he said to Lizzie he wanted to move in officially, she’d be over the moon, but he’s… uncomfortable with proceeding right now. Maybe in the next few months or so. His lease is up in May. They can talk about it then. Or he can think about subletting it and keeping the lease for a while, until they’ve made it official. He’ll think about it.

After the pickup game he heads back to his place, showers quickly, then heads downtown to do some Christmas shopping. Liz is in charge of presents from them for her family and he’s in charge of presents from them for his. He gets a couple sports things for Tommy, nice bottles of Bushmills for Pete and Pat, silk shawls for Katy and Pete’s wife Moira, and new books for Pete’s kids. And then he’s stuck trying to find something for Lizzie.

She’s always a tough person to buy for. She has everything she could ever need, and almost everything she could ever want. Plus, she’s used to nice things.

He browses the new fiction section of the bookstore. There isn’t much here that she doesn’t already have, so he decides to head out. On his way to pay for the kids’ books for Pete’s kids, he sees a new biography about Anne Sexton. He picks it up and flips through it; it looks like something she’ll like, so he adds it to the pile.

His shopping done, and laden down with bags, he heads back uptown. He hides Liz’s present in his side of the closet and wraps the other ones, putting them in the small room off the kitchen. He’ll have to think of something else for Lizzie, other things, better and bigger things. Not that she cares about the cost of anything--and falling back on something expensive would be cheating, anyway--she wants something thoughtful. Something that shows that he really knows her. Something that only he can give her.

An engagment ring is the obvious gift. He doesn’t really have the cash for one right now but he could give her his great-grandmother’s claddagh ring, left to him by his maternal grandmother, who wore it as her wedding ring. He could do that. He could go into Liz’s family’s bank and ask for a loan and buy her a diamond ring. He could talk to Nick and Isobel and ask for their blessing and he’s sure that Isobel has some family ring that she would want Liz to have.

He knows that the ring that would mean the most to her would be the one he already has. The question is can he do that? Can he give it to her?

He doesn’t know that he can, yet.

He runs a hand over his eyes. He needs to think of something else. In the meantime, he’s gonna bring up the ornaments from her storage space in the basement, and go buy a wreath, and get stuff for a nice dinner tonight. She deserves it.

 

By the time she gets home at five dinner is in the oven--roast beef and his special crispy roast potatoes. He’s made a salad and he has a chocolate cake from the bakery for dessert. He meets her in the foyer and hands her a mug of hot chocolate spiked with rum, which she needs, he can tell from the tension in her shoulders.

When she returns from getting changed she’s looking marginally more relaxed, and she relaxes further as they decorate the tree. She shares stories of the ornaments she has. Each one, it seems, has its own history, its own memory attached to it.

He goes to get the ornament he found in Bermuda--a little Bermuda house with a heart-shaped Christmas wreath painted on the front door. She smiles unreservedly and kisses him. She takes his hand as she finds a branch and they hang the ornament together.

She puts the angel on top of the tree at last, just as dinner finishes, and he brings her into the dining room to eat. They converse quietly, talking about the Christmas presents they’ve purchased and their plans for the holiday. They’ll drive up to her parents’ next Saturday. It’s a peaceful evening.

 _If you proposed it would always be like this_ , he thinks, and cuts that thought off abruptly and clears the dishes.

When he joins her in the living room, she’s put on the Moody Blues and is relaxing with her glass of wine. He smiles at the sight, pours himself a whiskey, and joins her on the sofa. He leans back against the arm of the sofa and she settles between his legs, her back resting against his chest. He wraps one arm around her waist and nuzzles her hair.

The minutes tick by and the songs play and he’s almost asleep when she says, very softly, ‘I want a baby.’

He stays perfectly still.

She continues, ‘I want children. I want us to be married and I don’t... I don’t want to wait. I want us to belong to each other officially. I want us to be able to bring our relationship out in the open. I love you. I want to be with you always.’ She pauses. ‘I’m not ready for a baby right now, but I think I will be soon. And when we have a baby... I think, well, I could step back from my work for the city legitimately. It wouldn’t be like running away.' Her voice cracks on that last sentence and his heart breaks. Does she really feel like that? That she has to stick it out at work or she’ll be running away? He closes his eyes and keeps them closed.

She adds, her voice worried, ‘I don’t want a baby because of that, of course. I want children with you, I have since well before all this happened. What--what do you think?’ He feels her shift in his arms and turn to look at him.

He pretends to be asleep.

He’s a coward.

She sighs and stands up and kisses his forehead before removing his glass of whiskey from his hand. He hears her making the sounds of someone preparing for bed, and then he pretends to wake up and they head to bed.

 

They’re lying in bed--she’s lying in his arms--and despite his earlier exhaustion he is wide awake. He can’t go to sleep now, though she fell asleep almost immediately. He’s thinking about what she said.

She is gonna be an amazing mother, he knows that, he’d know it even if she wasn’t so good with Tommy. She is kind and interested and generous and loving, so loving. He still doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to find her, to have her in his life.

He doesn’t know what kind of father he’d be.

Of course he wants to think that he’d be a great father. He thinks he’s a pretty good uncle, but then he gets all the fun and none of the responsibility. It would be different with their own kids.

How would it be, if they had kids? He tries to imagine it. Lizzie would still work, of course--her work is important to her. She said she’d want to step back from working for the city, so she’d have regular hours with her private patients, which would be good, because he wouldn’t. They’d have a nanny. Their kids would go to the best schools with tuition that would cost half his salary for kindergarten. They’d probably go to boarding school. They’d vacation in the Hamptons and Bermuda and hell, probably go skiing in Aspen or Sun Valley. They’d learn to sail and play tennis and squash. They’d have trust funds. They’d have a childhood totally unrecognizable to him, especially compared to his own.

But that would be good, wouldn’t it? They would have the world at their feet. They could have anything they’d want, everything they’d need. And, knowing Lizzie, she’d raise them well. They wouldn’t be spoiled little rich kids. And the thought of children… of a kid half him and half Lizzie, the wonder of that… 

He feels a wave of exhaustion wash over him and he gratefully surrenders.


	55. Chapter 55

She had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to take time off to come to the sentencing and she is right. He and his new partner, Lennie, are investigating the murder of a pregnant woman who was part of a heroin smuggling ring. It makes her shudder and she fears for him, fears for him getting involved in this sort of crime, especially because the last time that he was investigating organized crime Phil was shot.

Her mother will come with her instead.

He’s already gone when she wakes up on Tuesday morning, but he’s left her a note on her nightstand.

_I love you, Lizzie. You are amazing. I’ll be home as soon as I can._

She takes a long, hot, shower and gets dressed carefully. She wears dark blue wool trousers, a grey turtleneck, and the jacket that matches. She puts on her small gold studs and spritzes a small amount of perfume. She doesn’t wear any makeup besides a very pale, neutral lipstick.

Finally she is ready.

Her mother meets her downstairs in the lobby and her father’s driver takes them to the courthouse. They don’t talk beyond their greetings and they go through the security at the courthouse mechanically. Ben told her the room where the sentencing hearing will take place; Judge Rebecca Steinman is presiding. She and her mother make their way through the beautiful building before finding the right courtroom.

She stops short in the doorway, startled at how many people are here.

The defense table is empty, thank God, and so are most of the rows on that side. But the room is full of women, some with their husbands or partners, some alone, some in small groups. All of them, it seems, look from time to time at the place where the bastard will sit.

The prosecutors’ table is occupied by Ben and Paul. She averts her gaze, unwilling to speak with them.

Her mother touches her elbow. ‘Let’s find a seat.’

She nods, letting her mother guide her to a seat three rows from the back. She’s grateful that they are not in the front, though she catches first Paul then Ben’s gaze. She doesn’t want to be close to them. She doesn’t want to be in eyeline of the bastard, either.

While they wait, she looks at the other women gathered here. All of them, most of them, are like her--well-off, educated, well-dressed. Well, that makes sense, she thinks. His fees alone, and the fact that he doesn’t accept insurance, would make his clientele more exclusive than most doctors. It also explains why no one had come forward before now. It’s an embarrassment, or something that would be looked on as an embarrassment. And the scandal… 

‘All rise!’ the bailiff says, and she gets to her feet, her mother a beat behind her. ‘The Honorable Judge Rebecca Steinman presiding.’

Judge Steinman is good, she thinks. A good judge for this case. She takes her seat and the rest of the courtroom sits too, waiting.

He’s led into the courtroom in handcuffs, wearing an orange jumpsuit. Melnick is at his side. She can feel the tension rise in the courtroom, hear the hiss of breath as his victims inhale sharply. She looks at him once, the slump of his shoulders, the resignation in his stance, and looks away.

‘Your Honor,’ Ben says, rising to his feet. ‘The defendant has pled to twenty-nine counts of Rape in the First Degree and fifteen counts of Assault in the First Degree. Due to the heinous nature of his crimes, many of which consisted of paralyzing women with an anaesthetic before raping them, as well as the number of women he assaulted and raped, we ask for the maximum sentence for each offence.’

It’s Melnick’s turn. ‘Your Honor, the defendant is a respected medical professional who has helped many women and made many innovations in medicine. We ask that you grant a lenient sentence in light of his contributions to society.’

Although Melnick is saying all these horrible, untrue things, her voice is not as strident and confident as it usually is. She obviously has to defend him still, but can’t bring herself to go to bat with as much zeal as she usually does.

Melnick bows her head and Judge Steinman begins to speak.

‘No matter what the defendant’s contributions to medicine, the breadth and depth of his admitted crimes is disturbing and atrocious. Dr. Merritt, you understand that you are pleading to thirty-one counts of Rape 1 and fifteen cases of Assault 1?’

The bastard nods.

Judge Steinman is appropriately serious. ‘The fifty-four cases of rape and assault in front of me today--and the rape that was dismissed by my learned colleague--’ her heart clenches tight; she’s speaking about her, and the judge’s voice is acid with anger, ‘--are all serious crimes. The drugging of these women…’ she trails off. ‘Alex Merritt, you are hereby sentenced to two hundred and seventy years in prison: five years for each offence to be served consecutively. If I could charge you with more, then know that I would. You will not be eligible for parole.’ She bangs her gavel. ‘Court dismissed.’

She sneaks a look at the bastard--he has turned to glare at Ben and Paul and she catches the look of shock on his face before she looks at her mother.

‘Thank God,’ Mummy says, pulling her into a hug. She returns it. ‘It’s over.’

She meets Ben’s eyes over her mother’s shoulder. He nods briefly and she nods back. It is over. It is over.

Thank God.


	56. Chapter 56

Isobel calls him at noon.

‘Two hundred and seventy,’ she says.

‘What?’ he asks, trying to hear her over the din of a very pissed criminal fighting in the holding cell.

‘Judge Steinman sentenced him to two hundred and seventy years in prison.’

He lets out his breath in a long sigh. ‘Thank Christ for that.’

‘Yes,’ Isobel says fervently. ‘Thank God.’

He rubs a hand over his eyes. ‘How’s Lizzie?’

Is it his imagination or is her voice suddenly tight with tension? ‘She’s fine. She’s taking a bath and then she will take a nap.’

‘Okay,’ he replies slowly. ‘I’m not sure when I’m gonna get home. Can you--’ he trails off.

‘I’ll stay with her. I’m going to take her out to dinner tonight.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Great. Thank you.’

‘I’ll see you tonight,’ Isobel says, and hangs up.

 

He doesn’t have time to think about it, other than telling Cragen the results. He’s buried in paperwork and interviews and following up leads and by the time he gets home it’s a quarter to midnight.

Isobel has left him a note on the hall table.

_Liz went to bed early. We brought you dinner from Le Charlot; it’s in the fridge. I’m spending the night in the guest room. See you in the morning._

He checks on Lizzie first. She’s curled up again in bed, blankets layered over her duvet. She looks wiped out.

Her journal is open beside her. He shouldn’t read it, he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. _It’s in plain sight_ , he tells himself. _I’ll only read this page._

The page begins halfway through a sentence.

_over, but--I suppose the ramifications of it will last forever. In some ways it will never be over._

_He’ll rot in prison, in Dannemora, and no woman will ever be hurt by him again. That, at least, is a relief. And he can’t do anything more to me, but… but he’s done enough already._

_The bruises have faded and the memories have too, a little bit, at least. But I’m sure that they will always haunt me._

_Oh, Lizzie_ , he thinks. _I’m so, so sorry._

He picks up the journal, tucks her pen into the journal, and closes it, setting it down on her nightstand. He rests his hand on her shoulder for a moment, feeling the softness and warmth of her skin, then heads into the kitchen to get dinner.

They’ve brought him back steak frites and he pops it in the microwave and pours a beer while he waits for it to heat up.

He eats hungrily when the food is ready. He barely had time for lunch and lunch definitely wasn’t as good as this. When he finishes he cleans up, then heads back to their room to shower and head to bed.

 

She wakes up gasping, sitting straight up in bed, and because he’s been sleeping with her in his arms, he wakes up too. She leans forward and rests her head in her hands, her breathing slowing, as he sits up and strokes her back.

‘You okay?’ he asks her.

She shakes her head silently.

‘Want me to get you somethin’? Water, tea?’

She shakes her head again. ‘I’m fine.’

He shifts his weight so that he can wrap his arms around her waist. She leans back into him and sighs, a bone-weary sound that hurts his heart.

‘I’m so tired,’ she admits. ‘I’m so, so tired.’

‘Then let’s go back to sleep,’ he says, and she nods, and he brings her back down to bed.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. I am so grateful!!

She realizes how foolish she is when she wakes up on Friday from yet another nightmare.

It’s not over. It’s never going to be over, not like that. She should have listened to what Diana said when she shared her story. It will never, never be over.

She is seeing Rebecca today after her appointment with Julie Atkinson in the morning. She is exhausted and she wants comfort but she has to look professional, has to look like she’s holding it together. But she is so tired.

She waits until Mike has left for the precinct before climbing out of bed. He’s headed in early; she has time. Her appointment with Julie isn’t until ten, and then her appointment with Rebecca is at two. Rebecca’s office is closer to her apartment than to her office, so she’ll head home and change and drop off her things after Julie’s session.

She gets in the shower and washes her hair and dresses in grey flannel trousers and a turtleneck sweater. She keeps her mind focused only on the tasks at hand--drying her hair, choosing her jewelry, making a cup of coffee. She doesn’t want to linger on less savory thoughts.

She manages to get out of the house and down to her office without thinking about this week. She focuses on tomorrow. They are getting up early. They are driving to Connecticut. She has already put all their wrapped presents by the front door so that they can bring them down to the car tomorrow. She has packed for them. She has picked up their clothes from the dry cleaner. They are ready to go.

She hasn’t been home since it happened. She doesn’t know how it will feel. She doesn’t know how she will be able to get through her parents’ Boxing Day party. At least Christmas will just be her parents, Peter and Miranda, and them.

Thank God.

She jumps when her intercom rings; Julie Atkinson is here. She presses the button on her phone and tells Jessica to send her in.

 

The hour is halfway over when Julie says, ‘Dr. Olivet? Sorry, do you need me to repeat my question?’

She blinks and looks at Julie. ‘Uh, yes, sorry.’

‘Do you think it would be a good idea for me to go away for the holiday?’

She responds automatically, taking into account Julie’s issues with her parents, her father’s life sentence, her mother’s inability to admit her husband did anything wrong. Inside her mind is racing. She wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t hear what Julie said.

This has never happened before.

 

When her appointment is finally over, she heads back to her apartment. She locks Julie’s files, and the files she’ll need to work on when they get back from Connecticut, in her office. She makes herself a sandwich and picks at it, finally discarding it. She takes another shower. After her shower and after her sleepless night, she doesn’t bother to get dressed in anything nice for her appointment with Rebecca. She wants comfort. She puts on leggings and a longsleeved tshirt and the grey cashmere sweater she bought him last Christmas. She never dresses so sloppily in public but right now… she just wants comfort. She doesn’t really care how she looks.

For so long during this trial and the aftermath she clung to dressing normally, wearing makeup, putting on appearances as a way to keep a grip on everything. It seems pointless now because while it’s over, while he’s rotting in Dannemora for the rest of his life and after, she’s so tired. She’s exhausted.

It’s as though all her strength, all her energy, has vanished now that he is locked away forever.

She heads down to the lobby and has the doorman hail her a cab. Even that is beyond her, and even though Rebecca’s office is ten blocks away she just can’t walk.

She is shown into Rebecca’s office. She takes a seat on the couch, inwardly wry at the reversal of position. She curls up, protecting herself, waiting for Rebecca to join her.

When she does, words are beyond her for a long time. And she doesn’t know where to start. Finally, she admits, ‘I’m faking it.’

‘Faking what?’ Rebecca asks.

She drops her gaze. ‘I was halfway through a session this morning with this woman… when I realized I hadn’t been listening. I hadn’t heard what she said.’

‘It happens,’ Rebecca says soothingly.

‘It doesn’t happen to me.’

‘It’ll pass,’ she offers.

She meets Rebecca’s gaze. ‘Will it?’


End file.
